The Hard Count(93)

He leaves his door open a crack at first, but it falls more and more closed each time he passes. He turns on his stereo, then pushes the door in more. He pulls his blinds closed, and nudges the door. He spreads his blanket out nicely over his rumpled bed; the door clicks to a close.

“You are a bad boy, Nico Medina,” I say, suddenly very aware of the loose shirt I wore over my favorite leggings, my feet in only socks as I left my Vans by the front door. My hair, of course, is down.

His eyes narrow on me as his chin falls toward his chest, his back against his door, and he reaches his finger forward, hooking it in the neck of my shirt, tugging me toward him. My feet obey, my hands feeling the softness of his gray Tradition football T-shirt, the ridges of his abs hard underneath. I breathe in and out once quickly in anticipation, catching just enough of his scent, the mix of him and whatever it is he showers in. I dream that scent.

Nico shakes his head slowly, his eyes watching as his right hand slides my hair from my shoulder first, then his left does the same. He swallows hard, his finger again hooked in the collar of my shirt, above my shoulder. He drags it over the crest of my arm gently, his head falling forward until his lips rest on my bare skin. As he tilts his head up again, his finger traces the line of my black bra strap, and a shiver runs down my spine.

His gaze come to mine, and he steps into me, spinning me so my back is flush against his door and his chest is touching me, mine aching for more as his hands move from my shoulders to my neck until they cup my face. Nico leans slightly to the right, as do I, and our lips come together softly at first. I can feel his shake when he holds my bottom lip between his.

“You’re nervous,” I tease, breathing the words against his mouth.

“I am,” he says.

I kiss him again, mine trembling, too, but I don’t care, because I can’t stop the reaction my body has with him.

“Why?” I ask, trailing kisses down his jaw to his neck.

Nico sweeps my hair in one hand, lifting it so he can do the same, kissing along my collar bone, up my jaw and finding my ear, his teeth dragging along my sensitive skin.

“Because I want to touch you,” he whispers, his words buckling my knees.

He sucks the lobe of my ear and leans his weight into me more, his head dragging along mine until our lips meet to kiss again. We kiss without breathing for almost a minute, and when Nico finally breaks away to look at me, I’m panting.

“You can,” I say, feeling the heat rush up my chest, choking me.

He shakes his head, leaning in just enough to touch his nose softly against mine.

“Please,” I whisper, and he stops moving. “Touch me. If…only if you want to.”

Nico takes a sharp breath, and his eyes close as his fingers run along my cheeks to my shoulders. His lids open and our eyes lock briefly before he nods, his gaze moving to my neck and then following the path of his hands as he slides them along my ribs, down to my hips, reaching the bottom of my shirt and gathering the material in his palms.

He looks to me for approval, and I nod slowly, biting my lip and listening nervously to the sounds on the other side of the door. The women still giggle at the table, the television still plays lightly—everything is the same. And for once, for a rare moment, Nico and I are alone.

His hands continue to gather my shirt until his fingertips find my skin, the edge of my bra against my ribs, my stomach clenched tight with my held breath. Nico continues to move upward, the back of his knuckles dragging over my breasts slowly, against the silk and lace, against my chest and neck until he lifts my shirt over my head, leaving my arms up against the door, bound by the fabric.

His right hand traces my face as he leans in to kiss me, his lips tasting mine while his left hand comes down now to join the other, both moving along my sides in sync, stopping when his thumbs find the edge of my bra. My body arches into him, aching for him to cross the boundary I know he’s hesitating at. I can’t seem to ask him, so I breathe in, arching again, my breath falling away in a stutter against his mouth.

Nico steps back enough to let his head fall against mine, his eyes looking down at the movement of his hands. I close mine, waiting—anticipating. He traces the lace edge of my bra, the only nice one I really own, slowly, passing several times before running once over each breast. His fingers trail behind, and each small meeting of his hand…there…leaves me wanting more until his thumbs slip under each cup and rub against the hardest parts.

“Ah,” I let out a small pant, and Nico nips at my lips, his hands caressing me even more, fully cupping each breast and bringing his fingers together to put pressure where it feels so sweet.

Reaching up, he grabs my shirt, tossing it to the floor next to us, and when I look at him nervously, he holds his finger to his mouth, reminding me to stay silent—grinning.

My head falls back to rest on the door, and he slides my bra straps slowly down my arms until they fall loose around my biceps. His hands move back to my breasts again, slipping inside the material, wriggling it down as I pull my arms free until I’m completely exposed, my chest heaving with my quick breaths.

His kiss begins at my bottom lip, but trails lower without hesitation as he drags his mouth along my chin, his fingertips pushing gently, forcing my gaze up as he leaves small kisses along my neck, sucking over the rise of my right breast until he stops in the center, his tongue passing over my hard peak, his teeth closing with light pressure that makes me want to moan. I move my arms around him, squeezing his head against me as he sucks so hard it hurts. I only want more, though.