Chapter 26 #2
Eli and I have a quiet evening, just the two of us.
We have the TV on, but don’t really watch it.
I think my love needs some quiet comfort tonight, so that’s what I give him.
I may be sat between his legs, being cuddled, but I’m holding his arms tightly in return, tracing my fingers along the tattoos on his skin, resting my head on his chest, kissing his fingertips now and again.
That sort of thing. Simply loving on him, letting him know that I’m here, and he doesn't have to be strong for everyone all on his own anymore.
He cried in front of me.
I love that he let me in and showed me that side of himself.
Love that he wasn't ashamed to wear his heart on his sleeve so openly.
He's intimidating to look at - tall, built, and gruff on the outside - but my big guy has an even bigger heart, always giving, always looking out for other people first and foremost, even though he has his own wounds. I'll never let anything hurt him.
I get the impression that not much is going to happen tonight.
It's been a rough day, and, while I won't lie and say I'm not a little bit disappointed, a part of me also really loves that sex is not a compulsory part of every day anymore.
If either of us don't feel like it, that's totally cool, and not a punishment or a comment on our feelings.
It's too easy for sex to become a chore when it's treated like an obligation.
I can't wait to jump his bones again, but just snuggling up on the sofa for a quiet evening in is also beautiful in its own way.
Once again, we end up falling asleep where we sit, wrapped up in each other.
He wakes me very gently a couple of hours later. The only light is from the Netflix screensaver on the TV. I feel his hand gently stroking my rib cage and my stomach, easing me slowly into wakefulness. He kisses my hair, and one thumb moves along my face.
I lift my head and our eyes meet, mere inches apart.
He gives me a long, intent look, and seems to find whatever he was looking for, whatever consent he needed, because without further ado he gathers me in his arms, lifting me as he stands in one fluid motion.
I'm wrapped around him, hanging on tight, and he carries me to his bedroom.
He kisses me the entire way there, not removing his lips from mine for a second, even to open the door. Though I cling to him, it’s not in fear of falling. There’s no chance of that. He'd never allow me to drop. I’m safe in his arms, so I can just enjoy the ride.
He doesn’t rush. I am set down gently onto the edge of his bed, and he removes my clothes one by one.
Once I am naked, bathed in the moonlight pouring in through the window, he gives me a thoughtful, almost dreamy smile.
I reach for him to return the favour, but he catches one of my hands and gently bites my fingers, his smile taking on a smouldering quality that makes my pulse leap and my pussy warm with anticipation.
He undresses himself quickly and efficiently, and then gathers me in his arms, skin on skin, shifting us until my head is on his pillow.
I tug on his hair tie, and once again I relish the feeling of his long, thick dark hair curtaining us, tickling my breasts as he kisses down my neck, along my collar bone, and back up to the spot just under my ear that makes me tremble.
I understand why he ties back his thick, dark mane during the day, but I will always pull it loose in our bed.
I want it free and untamed. I want to be able to run my fingers through it, clutch it, and smooth it back.
I sigh with contented pleasure as his mouth travels further down to my breast, and almost whimper as the tip of his tongue teases my nipple.
My hands run restlessly over his back, and I marvel at how warm, how satiny smooth his skin is.
There’s a very subtle change to the feeling of his skin where he is marked with ink, almost too easy to miss, but it’s there: a certain texture, almost like wood grain.
I can feel his hardness against my thigh, and my breath comes faster as I anticipate him nudging into me.
I want it now. But I also want him to take his time kissing every inch of me, because he’s making my skin feel vibrantly alive.
His hands travel down my ribs, my stomach, my hips, and his touch is almost reverent.
I swear I can feel the love in his caresses.
Finally, at the age of almost 30, I understand why this act is described as an act of love.
His affection dances along my body wherever he kisses and touches, wherever he licks and softly bites, and I tremble with the intimacy of it.
My whole body jolts at the feeling of his fingers playing in my wetness, that most delicious feeling that makes my blood burn in my veins.
This seems to trigger something within him, because he shifts back up to my face and I am kissed, long and slow and hard.
I open my legs to cradle him with my body; the motion notches his cock at my opening.
We both gasp at the feeling, and I can feel him pulse and throb at my folds. He wants me badly, I know it.
With one hand he cups my face, looking down at me like I’m precious to him, like I’m everything he’s ever wanted or looked for in another human being. The eye contact between us is scorching straight through me, leaving nowhere to hide. He sees me, and what he sees, he unabashedly loves.
I don’t want to hide from us. Not anymore. I want him to look his fill, because he’s melting my heart.
With his other hand, he grips himself and lines up, pushing into me one slow inch at a time.
It feels like heaven. Like I’m being savoured.
Like he’s taking the time to relish every unhurried thrust. I lock my legs around his waist, and cannot resist kissing him, scraping my teeth gently down his jaw, like at the club.
This time, though, I’m doing this because he’s mine.
I can feel his pulse skip in his throat as he chuckles. He’s loving it.
The hot glide of his full length, in and out of me, over and over, slow and methodical, sends me wild.
I claw at his back, torn between begging him to speed up and just ram us both to the edge, and wanting him to spend forever doing exactly what he’s doing because it’s making me throb.
My limbs tingle, up and down, and my core is on fire.
I cannot stop my quiet cries of pleasure any more than I could stop breathing in and out.
One of his hands comes up to mine, lacing our fingers together and squeezing.
In reassurance? In dominance? Affection?
Comfort? Probably all of the above. And, because he knows me so well already, his other hand reaches down to give my clit the stimulation it needs as he flexes his hips above me.
All possibility of me being silent is gone.
The mix of his deft, sure fingers confidently stroking the exact right place, holy god, and his perfect thrusting has me gasping, rigid, then moaning as the most all-consuming orgasm I have ever felt rages through my entire body, leaving me weak and dizzy and entirely euphoric.
I can feel my walls rhythmically clutching at him, for real, no pretence necessary or even occurring to me, and he lets out a soft moan of his own as he loses control and empties everything he feels deep inside me, coming so hard I can feel him pump and pound with it.
He kisses my lips, my cheekbones, even my eyelids, like he doesn’t want to leave an inch of my face unloved as he carefully withdraws.
We both shift to lie on our sides, simply looking at each other.
The feelings coursing through us both are beyond any words that exist. His hand smooths my hair in that way he has that I’m coming to adore, in a way that I could enjoy each day for the rest of my life.
I kiss his lower lip, enjoying its softness.
“Mo laime toi,” he whispers.
“Hmm?”
I feel his breath on my cheek as he exhales a soft chuckle. “Means 'I love you' in Kouri-vini.”
I smile sleepily. “I ashaya du,” I murmur back.
He thinks for a moment. “I give in. What language is that?”
“Vulcan,” I say, snuggling closer, and the last thing I remember before I fall asleep is his mellow laughter.