Funny Feelings (45)
“My…” I say when his eyes find mine and I register that glimpse of panic that matches my own.
But then he breathes into a smile, and I fall into it, my steady hammock, and my fear evaporates.
At least, all my other feelings overrule it for now.
He sets his bag down on the floor next to the desk before he crouches, pulling something out of it.
“Tums. For your reflux later,” he says when he stands and gives the bottle a little shake at me.
It probably shouldn’t have the effect on me that it does. Tums are hardly an aphrodisiac. But it’s the fact that even amongst everything, he took my passing comment to heart and put my needs before his own, that he took the opportunity to do something small that he knew would make me laugh.
He’s there, jacket sleeves pushed up on thickly-built forearms, brows lifted, that bemused look on his wind-blown face. Piecing together in such a way that it’s somehow obscene, him shaking that antacid my way.
I’m floating, filling with heat and this rising feeling in my chest. So much love and adoration for this man. So I stand and walk over to him, slide my palm up from his chest to his jaw. “Thank you,” I say, before I weave my fingers in his hair and tug his face down to mine.
There’s a desk and a bed, and yet we end up against the wall at first, his mouth devouring my own. “Shit—sorry are you okay?” he asks when my head thuds against it.
“Yes,” I manage through a small laugh before I dive back in, desperate for more of his kiss. His hands splay out against my rib cage as he slides me up the wall, body pinning me there. And I can’t help myself, my hips undulate, seeking friction against his thigh, sliding against an equally hard part of him in the movement. He hisses, and I let loose a gasp. “I’m sorry— sorry,” I whisper, even though I’m anything but.
“What the fuck for?” he asks, his voice taking a gravelly edge, deeper, commanding even in its quietness. A secret for me, another something new that I want for my own. His tongue slides across his lower lip before he tucks it behind his top teeth, biting. His eyes traverse my face, down the slope of my neck, to where our bodies meet.
“I’m—uh—I can’t,” I say. “I should’ve told you before. I can’t right now…this week, I mean. I’m sorry.”
He looks like he wants to laugh, but graciously refrains. “Why would you apologize about being on your period, Fee?”
“I don’t want to, like, give you false expectations,” I play with the short strands of his hair at the base of his skull.
“I didn’t expect anything. Kinda sounds like you do, though,” he smirks. “I just wanted to kiss you again. What is it you think I expect?”
“I think most guys probably expect to have sex when they come up to a girls hotel room, no?”
“Boys. Idiot, juvenile boys, Fee,” he growls. “I plan to savor this. You. And maybe I like the idea of making you wait for the rest.” He smiles at my little sound of protest. “Now shut up and let me keep kissing you.” His mouth goes to my jaw, down my neck, tongue dipping to the hollow of my throat before he pulls the strap of my camisole aside and kisses just below my collarbone. I tug on his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, eating up his small grunt when I grind on him again.
He slides his thumb across my nipple before he dips down, nibbles it through the thin material of my top. “My—I want—” I don’t know what I want, though. More? Less? To go back in time and slap the shit out of Eve for cursing us all with menstruation?
I finish the thought by showing him, digging my heels into the backs of his thighs and pressing that aching spot against him in reply. He doesn’t hesitate, just scoops me off the wall, finding my lips again before he carries us over to the little armless chair in the corner and sits, pressing me into his lap and pumping my hips once. When I let out a small moan against his ear he tilts his chin up to me, rewards me with another searing kiss as he drags my hips back and forth again. Each movement ratchets up the sensations buzzing beneath my skin, closer and closer in spite of the clothing that still separates us. I slide the straps of my ratty tank top away, exposed and open to the frigid hotel air. And then I look down and realize that I’ve just whipped out my boobs to my best friend and it should absolutely feel weird, but the way he looks at me, like I’m some unexpected treasure, has me feeling impossibly confident and sexy. I smile, and his returning one starts out shy before it heats, before he leans forward and catches one pebbled nipple into his mouth and pulls. He works out a rhythm of sliding me against him while he lays more attention to me simultaneously; tongue and teeth and lips. Until I’m frenzied, gyrating and circling, friction and sensation and heat, and so, so close. Until his head falls back against the chair and his brow furrows in concentration, as the pads of his fingertips spread down to my ass, kneading, squeezing and pressing through my leggings while he works my hips. His mouth falls open and his eyes meet mine, as he tilts his hips and presses up against me and I come completely undone.
19
NOW
MEYER
She blushes when she comes. A watercolor pink that spreads across her chest. She does it quietly, with a breathy groan like that first stretch after waking. It’s all I can do to not try and coax another one from her, to start collecting them, hoarding them. I want to build a library in my mind to store them in. With floor to ceiling shelves and a rolling ladder.