Gods & Monsters(33)

“And what?”

I lower my eyes and now my heartbeats probably match his. “I don’t want you to lose me after I’m gone so… I’ll be your muse too.”

Silence. Pin-drop, epic silence.

Okay, so maybe I’ve said too much. Maybe I should’ve eased him into it. But the thing is, I don’t want easy. I hadn’t realized that until now. I hadn’t realized the intense hunger inside me. For him. To be his. In every way.

I hadn’t realized that I want him more than I can ever want anything in this world. In fact, I don’t even want the world, I only want him.

“Are you saying that I can take your picture?” I nod. “Naked pictures?” I nod again. “Pixie… I…”

He licks his lips, his eyes both wary and infused with excitement. The brown of his pupils has been swallowed whole with black lust and his cheeks are a shade darker with the flush. He wants this. He wants this so much.

“I hated last year, like, really, really hated,” I say with a tight voice. “I hated being apart from you. I hated not being able to touch you, talk to you. I don’t know how it happened but somehow, you’re the only one I feel safe with anymore. You’re my everything, Abel. And I want to do this. For you and for myself. Because I love you.” I get up on my tip-toes and place a kiss on his immobile lips. “Besides, in four weeks you’re picking me up and throwing me over your shoulder, anyway. You’re taking me to a courthouse so I can say I do. So you can take whatever you want from me, right?”

His nostrils flare and he jerks out a nod.

“Then why not do it now. Tonight? I’m ready.”

That makes him drop his head back and look to the ceiling like he’s lost all his strength. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Before I lose my courage, I walk to the bed and then spin around to face him.

With his eyes tracking paths all over my body, my dress seems too tight, especially around my breasts. My panties are too wet, too constraining. I want to lower my lashes and look at my wiggling toes, but I keep my gaze on him. I reach my hands up and hook my fingers around the zipper. But I pause for a few seconds when he sags against the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

My fingers are shaking violently. A couple of times the zipper slips through my sweaty digits like I’m trying to contain sand or water. With a deep breath, I get a handle on it and pull it down. It goes smoothly, loosening the bodice of my dress, letting the air over my sweaty, anticipating skin. His eyes flare. His tongue slips out and licks his lips, his gaze glued to where the dress will open to reveal my breasts.

I’m almost done when I hit a snag and the zipper gets stuck. Frowning, I try to fix it, but nothing happens.

“What’s wrong?” he rumbles, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

“It’s stuck. The zipper.”

He releases a pent-up breath, but then chuckles. It’s strained and amused, and a little resigned and angry. “Maybe it’s a sign, Pixie. Maybe your God doesn’t want you to bare yourself to me. The town’s monster.”

“Shut up. Don’t call yourself that. Just help me with it, will you?” I mutter, rolling my eyes, even as I understand his bitter tone. Last year has been hard for us.

But only four more weeks before I can be with him forever.

I turn around and hear the intake of his breath. He approaches me with loud feet and puts his hands on my waist over the dress, holding the fabric together, like he’s afraid to let go.

You know how you can want something too much that you’re scared to actually have it? You’re scared of how it’ll change you to hold that thing in your hands. Maybe that’s what’s he’s afraid of, too. How will we go on living, existing in the same town for a whole month, after doing this? After finally taking the step and being one.

Because hell yeah. I’m going to sleep with him tonight. No doubt about that.

“Abel,” I whisper his name like he went to sleep again, lost in his thoughts.

A puff of breath over the nape of my neck, and then he’s pulling the zipper down, until there’s nowhere left to go. The trail is done and my dress is loose enough to get out of.

Holy shit. I’m really doing this.

I snatch the fabric in the front and keep it pinned to my chest before letting it swoosh down and puddle around my feet. His shuddered exhale is so big that it touches every inch of my body. Every single inch.

A second later, it’s his fingers touching my bare skin, running along the edge of my bra strap. They are soft but slow, until they touch my hair. Then, they become insistent and tugging and damaging. He’s wrapping the strands around his hand and rubbing the silky smoothness against my back. I swear I hear a moan, but it’s too low to even be considered a sound. I bite my lip, growing wet between my legs.

“Turn around, baby,” he commands in a low voice.

Digging nails into my bare thighs, I do. Every muscle in my body is taut. Every vein running under my flesh is strung tight. I’ve never been this naked in front of anyone. No other person on this earth has seen my body this way. Except Abel.

My boobs are big, bigger than most of the girls I go to school with, and most days they feel clunky and heavy, sometimes sore too. My waist is small but it’s not the kind you see on TV where everything is tight and muscled. No, my stomach is soft and cushiony. It’s all the Toblerones over the years. My skin is pale with blue veins and my thighs and butt are meaty. As I stand here, I realize how rounded and smooth-edged I am in comparison to him. Even covered by clothes, he looks sculpted and muscled.