November 9: A Novel(47)

Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic, but whatever. I’m too nervous to get out of the shower, even though I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair several minutes ago. I have no idea what Ben’s expectations are for tonight. If he wants to sleep, I would totally understand. He’s been through hell and back this week. But if he wants to do something besides sleep, I will absolutely, without a doubt, be a willing participant.

After I dry off, I pull his shirt over my head. I look in the mirror and admire the way it hangs off my shoulders. I’ve never worn another guy’s t-shirt before, and I’ve always wondered if it felt as good as I imagined it would feel.

It does.

I pull the towel off my head and run my fingers through my hair a few times. I take Ben’s toothpaste and squeeze some onto my finger and then rub it in my mouth for a minute. When I’m done, I take a deep, calming breath, and then I turn out the lights and open the door.

His lamp is on and he’s lying on the bed, facing the center of it, with his hands tucked beneath his head. He’s kicked his covers onto the floor and is wearing nothing but his socks and a pair of boxers. I stand here and admire him for a moment, since his eyes are closed. He might actually be sleeping, but it doesn’t disappoint me at all. Tonight’s for him and him only, because I know he’s hurting. I just want to help him while I’m here, so if he needs sleep, I’ll do what I can to ensure he gets the best night of sleep he’s ever had.

I walk to the lamp and switch it off and then pick his covers up off the floor. I gently sit on the bed and cover us both as I lie down next to him with my back to his chest. I try not to wake him as I adjust my pillow.

“Shit.”

I roll over at the sound of his voice. It’s dark in the room, so I can’t tell if he was talking in his sleep or if he’s awake. “What is it?” I whisper.

I feel an arm go around my waist, and he pulls me closer. “I left the light on so I could see you walk out of the bathroom wearing my shirt, but you take really long showers. I think I fell asleep.”

I smile. “I’m still wearing it. You want me to turn the lamp on?”

“Fuck yes, please.”

I laugh and roll over toward the lamp. I switch it on and then face him again. His eyes are unmoving, yet somehow all over me.

“Stand up,” he says, lifting up onto his elbow. I stand up and his eyes never meet mine. They’re roaming over my thighs, my hips, my breasts. I don’t mind that he isn’t looking at my face. I don’t mind at all.

The hem of his shirt falls several inches above my knees. It’s just long enough to where he can’t tell that I’m not wearing underwear right now. It’s also just short enough to where he’s probably praying I’m not wearing underwear right now.

His eyes drop to my legs again and he begins to speak slowly, as if he’s reciting poetry. “The only sea I saw, Was the seesaw sea, With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.” His eyes drag up my body until they meet mine. “Dylan Thomas,” he says.

I release a slow breath. “Wow,” I say. “Poetry porn. Who knew?”

Ben smiles at me lazily. He lifts a finger and points at me. “I’d like to have my shirt back now.”

“Now?”

He nods. “Right now. Before you turn off the lamp. Take it off, it’s mine.”

I laugh nervously and begin to reach for the lamp. Before I’m able to turn the light off, he jumps up and walks across the mattress, hopping to the floor directly in front of me. His eyes are playful, yet somehow stern at the same time. He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up without hesitation, yanking it off my head. He throws it somewhere behind him and I’m immobile in front of him, completely exposed. His eyes read every curve of my body before he lets out a shaky breath.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

I can’t recall a single time, even before the fire, when I’ve felt this beautiful. He’s soaking me up like it’s a privilege rather than a favor. And when he leans forward and takes my face in his hands, I part my lips and wait for his kiss because I’ve never wanted it like I want it right now.

His lips are moist, and he kisses me with entitlement. His tongue is rough and unapologetic, and I love it. I love feeling needed this way. I realize, as his fingers are slowly trailing down my spine, that angst doesn’t have to be a factor for a kiss to be a ten, after all. Because angst is nowhere in this kiss, and it’s already a nine.

He pulls me flush against him, my naked chest pressed against his. Okay, it’s a ten now.

He turns us around and lowers me to the bed, but doesn’t lie on top of me. He adjusts us to where we’re side by side and my head is on a pillow, but his mouth is still on mine. Quiet, desire-filled sounds begin to leave my mouth, each one of them a direct result of what this kiss is building inside me.

I don’t even care that the lamp is still on. If it means he’ll be looking at me again like he looked at me before this kiss, I’ll let him turn all the lights on. I’d even let him install fluorescents.

“Fallon,” he says quickly after tearing his mouth from mine. I open my eyes and find him looking down at me. “We’ve read the same books. You know the rules. If you want me to stop or slow down, just . . .”

I shake my head. “It’s perfect, Ben. So perfect. I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t want to do, or if I get nervous. I promise.”