Fluffy(69)

Only it's not Will who is wet.

My fingers know what to do, immediately reaching for his bare chest, palms going flat right on his breast bone. His eyes catch mine. I feel him inhale, then slowly let out his breath, the warm air making me lean in.

We have thousands of ways to touch someone. The permutations are endless. For instance, in this moment, Will bends over me, his hands going to my shirt, undoing the buttons one by one as if he's in sync with my heartbeat. Fast, nimble movements leave my skin chilled by the sudden bareness, his chest brushing against mine as he bends down to kiss me while sliding my shirt off my shoulders, down my elbows, my hands forgotten until I remember they exist, his tongue teasing my teeth as I try to remember how to use the rest of my body.

Miraculously, I drop my shirt as my arms band around his waist, head tipped up to take him in.

Reaching the line between your body and someone else's is like crossing an international border, but wordlessly. All the questions and answers are in the form of kisses and caresses, moans and movements.

Will unhooks my lace bra with a quick flick, the cups loosening with a maddening slack that makes my nipples even harder, begging for his warmth, wanting to be cupped by the very same hands that seem to read my mind. Before I can take a breath between kisses, he dips his head down and sucks one nipple into his holy mouth, making me let out a sound I've never made before.

“Will,” I gasp, his name so familiar yet so foreign, all four hands between us removing socially required body coverings that serve as nothing more than obstacles between us. Quickly, we're both naked, and Will stops.

He stares.

I stare back.

“You're beautiful,” he says, so much emotion in those syllables, earnest and sensual at the same time. His hair is in disarray, dark waves criss-crossing like they've lost direction. Long eyelashes frame intelligent, alert eyes. Appreciative eyes. Eyes that are hot with want to take in every inch of me.

I let him.

I let him look at me.

And I enjoy it.

The first time you sleep with someone new, there aren't just the boundaries between their body and yours. The gaze has boundaries, too. You know exactly what I mean. Stare at someone a little too long–or at the wrong spot on their body–and you quickly learn that invisible lines surround all of us.

Perimeters matter when it comes to defining ourselves in relation to others, even if they appear on no survey map.

“Will,” I say again, sitting up to touch him, being the object of his look no longer enough. The whisper of thick hair, spread across his chest with just the right calibration, makes my palm alight with fire. My nipples graze his ribs as he kisses me, a rich, full kiss that really deserves its own word.

Just ‘kiss’ doesn't begin to describe it.

“Close your eyes,” he tells me.

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

“That's how all really scary plotlines in movies start, Will.”

“I thought trusting people was your default.”

“Fine.” I close my eyes and smile. “Do we need a safeword?”

Silence. I open my eyes to find Will staring at me with the most complex sensual expression, chest rising and falling with long, deep breaths, setting a rhythm that makes me inhale slowly, with meaning.

I quickly shut my eyes.

And he pulls me up to the top of the bed, my giggles completely unexpected as my bare ass slides against the Egyptian cotton of my comforter.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers in my ear, biting my earlobe for emphasis.

I follow his command.

Sound, touch, and scent become my only tools for awareness, each sense heightened by the shutting off of another. Will's thigh rubs against my hip, the bristly feel of leg hair on my smooth skin making me shiver. His body crosses over mine as if he's reaching for something, then I hear a scraping sound, one I can't identify.

He pulls back slightly, but his body is on mine. A wet, viscous sound, like gel on flesh. What on Earth is he doing?

A deep huffing sound comes out of him, then a splash of sensation, like sudden raindrops on my collarbone, my ribs, my breasts.

I open my eyes to find white goo all over my breasts.

Oh, no.

Poor Will.

It happens to the best of men, right?

“Um, so, it's okay,” I start, uncertain how to explain that while I wasn't expecting a pearl necklace tonight, premature ejaculation is nothing to be ashamed of, and– With his fingertip, he scoops up some of the white sticky stuff and pops it straight into my open mouth.

Perky's advice comes roaring into my mind:

You really don't know a person until you're naked and in bed with them.

God help me, I'm going to have to admit to her that she was right.

Is this some kind of... fetish?

Taste buds take a little longer to kick in when the brain is occupied elsewhere, but as seconds pass, I realize the goo is sweet. Really sweet, like spun sugar.

What does this guy eat? I've heard that if men eat a lot of pineapple, their semen tastes like it. Will must live at the Necco factory and mainline wafers like a machine if his tastes like– “...Fluff.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mallory, you're a million miles away. How's the Fluff?”

I look down at my chest. “Oh!” Relief spills through me like adrenaline. “That's Fluff?”