All Your Perfects(34)
I laugh, but as soon as he begins to push into me again, I hold my breath.
“Jesus, Quinn.” He breathes against my neck and then thrusts against me. We’re both a little too loud now. He holds still once he’s inside me, both of us doing our best to stay as quiet as we can. He begins to move, causing me to gasp, but he covers my mouth with his, kissing me deeply.
He alternates between kissing me and watching me, doing both things with an intensity I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced. He pauses his lips so that they hover just above mine, occasionally brushing them as we fight to remain silent. He keeps his eyes focused on mine while he moves inside of me.
He’s kissing me again when he starts to come.
His tongue is deep inside my mouth and the only reason I know he’s about to finish is because he holds his breath and stops moving for a few seconds. It’s so subtle as he fights to remain as quiet as possible. The muscles in his back clench beneath my palms and he never once breaks eye contact when he finally does pull away from my lips.
I wait for him to collapse on top of me, out of breath, but he doesn’t. He somehow holds himself up after it’s over, watching me like he’s scared he might miss something. He dips his head and kisses me again. And even when he pulls out of me, he still doesn’t collapse on top of me. He puts all his weight on his side as he eases down beside me without breaking the kiss.
I slide my hand through his hair and hold him against my mouth. We kiss for so long, I almost forget where I am.
When he breaks for air, he watches me silently for a moment, his hand still on my cheek, and then he dips his head and kisses me again like he doesn’t know how to stop. I don’t think I know how to stop this, either. I wish more than anything we were somewhere else. My place . . . his place . . . anywhere other than a place where we have to stop and go back upstairs eventually.
I am not inexperienced when it comes to sex. But I think I am inexperienced when it comes to this. The feeling of not wanting it to be over long after it’s over. The feeling of wishing I could bury myself inside his chest so I could be closer to him. Maybe this isn’t new for him, but based on the way he’s looking at me between all the kissing, I would say there’s more confusion in his expression than familiarity.
Several seconds pass as we stare at each other. Neither of us speaks. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say, but I can’t speak because of the severe intensity building inside my chest. The sex was great. Quick, but incredible.
But this thing that’s happening right now . . . the not being able to let go . . . the not wanting to stop kissing . . . the not being able to look away . . . I can’t tell if this is just a side to sex I’ve never experienced or if this goes deeper than that. Like maybe sex isn’t as deep as it gets. Maybe there’s a whole level of connection I didn’t know could exist.
Graham closes his eyes for a few seconds, then presses his forehead against mine. After releasing a quick sigh, he pushes himself off me, almost as if he had to force his eyes shut in order to separate us. He helps me up and I look for my panties while he disposes of the condom and zips up his jeans.
It’s quiet while I dress. We don’t look at each other. He picks up the empty condom wrapper from the floor and tosses it into the trash can beside his bed.
Now we’re facing each other. My arms are crossed over my chest and he’s looking at me like he isn’t sure if the last fifteen minutes actually happened. I’m looking at him like I wish it could happen again.
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he just gives his head a quick shake and steps forward, grabs my face and kisses me again. It’s a rough kiss, like he isn’t finished with me. I kiss him back with just as much intensity. After a minute of the kiss, he starts to walk me backward toward the stairs. We break for air and he just laughs, pressing his lips into my hair.
We make it up two steps before I realize I haven’t looked in a mirror. I just had sex with this man and I’m about to have to go smile at his parents. I frantically comb my fingers through my hair and straighten out my dress. “How do I look?”
Graham smiles. “Like you just had sex.”
I try to shove him in the chest, but he’s faster than me. He grabs my hands and turns us until my back is against the wall of the stairwell. He straightens out a few strands of hair and then wipes his thumbs under my eyes. “There,” he says. “You look beautiful. And innocent, like you just took a typical tour of the house.” He kisses me again and I know he probably means for it to be short and sweet, but I grab his head and pull him closer. I can’t get enough of the taste of him. I just want to be back at my apartment, in my bed with him, kissing him. I don’t want to have to go upstairs and pretend I want pie when all I want is Graham.
“Quinn,” he whispers, grabbing my wrists and pushing them against the wall. “How fast do you think you can eat a slice of pie?”
It’s good to know our priorities are aligned. “Pretty damn fast.”
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
Now
Despite all the Thursday nights that Graham has returned home smelling like beer, I’ve never actually seen him drunk. I think he chooses not to drink more than one or two beers at a time because he’s still so full of guilt over losing his best friend, Tanner, all those years ago. The feeling of being drunk probably reminds him of his devastation. Much like how sex reminds me of my devastation.