The Best Laid Plans(53)
He raises himself up onto his arms so he can study my face. I bite my lip, self-conscious that he’s looking at me so closely, studying me as if I’m a girl, a real girl, one that he wants to be with. He moves his hand to the hem of my shirt, holding tentatively on to the fabric there.
“Can I?” He pulls it up slightly to reveal a strip of my stomach.
“Oh, right,” I say, flustered. I pull the T-shirt over my head, tossing it onto the floor to join his discarded clothes, and lie back down. I’m wearing my own bra this time—not one of Danielle’s—so it fits much better, although there’s definitely less cleavage.
“So what next?” I ask, my voice hoarse, as if I’ve just woken up from a nap. “I’ve never . . . no one’s ever seen . . .” I stumble over the words. “I’ve never taken my bra off with Dean.”
“Do you want me to?” he asks, his voice low and strained. He reaches a tentative hand up to the fabric of my strap, running it between his fingers. He pulls the strap down, letting it fall past my shoulder. “Tell me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper, and he reaches underneath me for the clasp. He fiddles with it for a minute, unable to get it open, and I reach back and do it for him, pulling the bra away before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. He smiles and leans down to kiss me again, covering my body with his. The feeling of skin against skin is electrifying.
“Keely,” he whispers, pulling me tighter against him. He reaches a hand up to touch my chest, slow and gentle, and I find that I don’t mind it, find myself actually enjoying it. I reach for the clasp of his belt buckle with tentative fingers and slowly pull out the leather strap. He moves his hands off me and reaches down to help, unzipping his jeans. He has to sit up away from me to pull them off, and they get stuck around his feet.
Once they’re off, he drops them onto the floor and comes back over to me in just his boxers. They’re dark green and covered with little four-leaf clovers, and I notice with a thrill of—what, fear? Anxiety? Excitement?—that there’s a tent in the front.
He reaches for the button of my jeans, and I gasp in surprise as I feel the pressure of his fingers through the fabric.
“Still okay?” he whispers, holding his fingers there on the button, not moving. I nod, kissing him softly on the side of the mouth. I lay my hand over his and help him move the button aside, sucking in a nervous breath as he pulls down the zipper. I feel strangely as if I’m in a dream, as if we’re two people outside of ourselves. He pulls my pants slowly down my legs. When he sees my underwear, he grins.
“Polar bears?”
I flush, biting my lip to keep from laughing. He tosses my pants onto the floor and kisses me again, lying back on top of me and settling in. I’m acutely aware that all that separates us are two thin layers of cotton, and my mind is reeling. I can feel the hardness of him pressed against me, and I press into it, making him gasp. He pulls his face away from mine and gazes at me, bringing a hand up to cradle the side of my face.
“Keely,” he whispers again, his voice so soft I can barely make it out. “You drive me crazy.” He moves his hand from my cheek and trails his fingertips down my neck, and then to the delicate skin of my collarbone. I shiver, my eyes fluttering closed of their own volition. We’re on the brink, standing on the edge of the cliff, about to jump. And once we’ve jumped, there’s no turning back. I know what we’ve done has already changed everything, but maybe the strings could still be untangled. But not if we keep going—not after this.
“Do you have the condom?” I whisper, my voice catching.
“It’s in your bag, right?”
I pull away from him and scramble for the backpack, which is on the floor on the other side of the bed. My hands are shaking so much I have trouble with the zipper, but finally I get the little square package out and hand it to him. I feel slightly dizzy, the room sliding in and out of focus as I try to get my bearings.
“Okay, so,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering, considering we’re all alone in the house, but it seems like speaking in a normal voice would interrupt something. “I guess you should open it. Or no, actually maybe I should try to put it on you. Good teaching moment, right? Do you think Dean would be into that? That would look—”
“I don’t think it matters.” His voice is strained.
“He might be impressed if I knew how to—”
Andrew kisses me again, lying over me, and I kiss him back, forgetting about the condom for a moment at the feel of his lips and tongue. “Keely,” he says, and I feel the word against my lips. “Let’s just . . .” He doesn’t finish, instead brushing fluttering kisses over my jaw. He pulls away and looks at me, his face barely an inch from mine. “I’ll put it on,” he says.
I nod, unable to speak.
“Are you sure about this?” His voice is scratchy and low. “I need you to tell me that you’re sure.”
I nod again, surprised how much I want him to continue. I ache in a way I didn’t expect. Now we’ve come this far, it’s hard to stop. I want to go through with things—feel suddenly there’s a small piece of me missing.
It’s so different from how I felt when I was in this same position with Dean. I remember the anxiety that flooded me then, how my brain was moving in a million different directions and I couldn’t get it to slow down. It feels slowed down now—calm and sure. It’s probably because I’m comfortable with Andrew; he’s not someone I’m trying to impress.