Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(51)

I let out a single breath, a short laugh at the absurdity of this, kissing her chin. “Are you kidding?”

“We’ll just do it twice, then.”

I’d normally smile at this except my brain can’t process anything but the unbelievable heat of her, the knowledge that I’m about to get exactly what I want. My open mouth rests on hers as I push in, and it means I feel the way her breath shakes.

“Josh.”

She’s right, holy shit it’s so good. “I know.”

“Is this the worst idea ever?”

“I don’t know. Right now it feels like the best idea ever.” I cup her backside, lifting her hips to me, working myself in and out of her, deeper on each pass.

I feel a flash of guilt, like this sex should be for the sake of taking care of business only—an accident that happened in our sleep—and I shouldn’t be enjoying it so much. But how can I not? Hazel is gorgeous beneath me: her hair is a tumble of curls on the pillow, her mouth is full and wet, her breasts move with me every time I push deep into her.

And I get the sense that she’s relishing it, too. She touches me like she’s memorizing my shape, with fingertips and palms, thumbs tracing the lines of my back. Her hands slide down to my ass, back up to my shoulders, my neck, and into my hair. When I push up onto my hands to see what I’m feeling, her hands make a circuit of my front: my shoulders, collarbones, chest, stomach, and down to where I’m moving in and out of her.

Her fingers come away wet and before I can think about it I pull them up and into my mouth before bending to kiss her. It’s such a rare filthy thought but I want her to feel what we’re doing with every one of her senses. If she wants to memorize it, I want to tattoo it into her thoughts.

Look at this, I think. We’re making something right now.

God, there’s a different awareness this time that makes me feel both more relaxed and more inhibited. For one, we’ve done this already, so there’s the familiarity of her body under mine and knowing—even barely—what she likes. But I’m sober, and so every movement is intentional, every touch is conscious.

I also realize, when I hear her sounds and feel the hungry wandering of her hands, that for me at least, this isn’t just infatuation or a flash of desire, it’s deeper. I think this is love, I think she’s it for me, but I can’t quite reach that emotional place with her noises pressed right into my ear; I know I’ll be hearing them for days.

“Josh.”

“Yeah?”

She goes quiet, almost like she’s suddenly shy.

My mouth presses to her jaw, my hand finds her breast as I narrow my movements to the tiniest circles. “Tell me.”

Instead of answering, she cups my face and brings my mouth over to hers. Her kiss is so searching, so desperate that I have to wonder whether she’s asking me something with the touch.

Is this real?

“I feel it, too,” I tell her. Whatever this is. “I’m right there with you.”

Hazel slides her tongue over mine, spreading her legs wide and pulling me deeper, until she’s crying out into my mouth, telling me Yes

I’m coming

I feel every bit of air leave me as I follow her down the spiral—a relieved gust drains me. The pleasure is unreal: metal and liquid and light, pulling a long groan from my throat that comes out strangled.

Her hands grip my backside, holding me deep as I shake.

Other than our gasping breaths, quiet surrounds us.

“Did you come again?” I whisper. I need to know she did. If the answer is no, I’m not done here.

She nods, her forehead damp against the side of my face. “Did you?”

I cough out an incredulous sound, and she giggles, but when I begin to pull back, she grips me with her arms around my shoulder and her legs around my thighs, keeping me inside her.

“Don’t.” She presses her mouth to my neck. “I’m not ready for this to be over yet.”

I know exactly what she means.

..........

Hazel is already up when I wake, naked in her bed. I hear dishes clattering in the kitchen, and a flash of relief ripples through me that she hasn’t taken off on a run, needing to process this somewhere else.

I cup my forehead and try to figure out what to do. I love Hazel; with the clarity of the morning sun beaming in the window, I know I do. But in the long run, am I what she needs? I don’t want to root her down if she’s not ready, and if she wants someone boisterous and gregarious like Tyler, who am I to say she shouldn’t have that?

I wonder, too, where her head is after what we did last night. Hazel has done this before—casual sex, hookups. But I remember the moments last night when it felt nearly desperate between us, like she didn’t want to let me go. I know that could also be the weight of our friendship, and her fear of losing it. It could have been a comfort screw and nothing more.

I have no idea what to think.

It’s calculated, but I pull on my boxers and jeans, leaving my shirt off. I figure, if she makes some crack about my body, or comes over to touch me—that’s good, right? If she wants to figure out what’s going on between us, I’m totally down for that.

In the kitchen, she’s pulling spoons out of a drawer and glances up when I come in. She’s wearing her favorite dalmatian pajamas—tiny shorts and an even tinier tank, which makes them my favorite, too.