Notright, not wrong.
Itjust is.
20
sebastian
With the door closedand the lock secured,I threw her onto my bed. As she landed, all of that auburn hair fanned againstthe navy blue of my blanket, her knees propped up and parted, her arms went overheadand her face flushed with excitement and laughter, I suddenly remembered that nowoman had ever laid there before.
Inever thought I’d realistically have another first, not at thirty-six with alifetime of experience already under my belt, but here I was. Instantly soberand taking in the titanic profundity of the moment.
Tabbygrinned unabashedly, the remnants of her laughter lingering in the lines aroundher eyes. “What are you looking at?”
Backpedalingfrom what could’ve been a mood killer, I knelt to the floor at the foot of thebed and proceeded to pull her sneakers off. “I’m looking at you.”
“Ohyeah?” She twirled a strand of her hair around a finger, tempting me with theview of watching her from between her spread legs. “And what do you see?”
Whatdo I see?For days I’d been trying to peel back every one of herstony layers, searching for that girl she used to be—andstill is—underneathall that hardened skin and professional attire. I’d been trying so hard to seeeverything she could be, and there, in her business suit and Converse, withauburn hair in a chaotic halo around her head, and a coy smile on her face, Icouldn’t help but feel victorious.
“Everything,”I stated simply.
“Oh,you seeeverything, huh?” she laughed nervously, doing me the favor of undoingher pants as I finished dropping her shoes to the floor.
“Yep,”I nodded.
“Areyou sayingI’meverything?”
Itwas a jab, a playful tease. Nothing to look into as she lifted her ass andshimmied out of her beige pants, revealing a pair of smooth, porcelain legs. Womenhad made comments like that to me before. It had never been special, but now, maybeit was. Because I started to wonder, for the first time in my life, if anybodycould be everything to me. And, what was it abouthermaking thatcomment that made me wonder?
“Maybe,”I laughed, standing up and peeling off my t-shirt, tossing it aside and undoingmy jeans.
“JesusChrist,” she lifted onto her elbows to gawk at my bared torso, “I’ve never seenanything that looked like that in real life.”
Iglanced down at my crotch. “Just wait until it’s out of my jeans. It’ll reallyblow your mind then.”
“Notthat,” she muttered around a giggle as she clambered to a kneelingposition. I watched her eyes widen as her palms pressed against my chest,splaying her fingers over the hard-earned muscle and working their way down to mystomach. “Holy crap, you actually have abs. I mean, it’s not a six-pack, but—”
Mylaugh startled her, and she raised her eyes to mine. “So sorry to disappoint. Ipromise to do a thousand crunches a day from now on, my queen.”
Hermouth dropped with horror as she shook her head. “Oh my God, no! I don’t evenlike six-packs.”
“Bullshit!What woman doesn’t like ripped abs? I’ve seen the fucking book covers on theshit you women read,” I grunted, teasing with a raised brow. My jeans unzipped,and dropped to my ankles.
“Okay,first of all, that’s not whatIread, and second of all, Idon’tlike six-packs. I likethis. Definition without being … fake.” Shelowered herself, sitting back against her heels, still smoothing her hands overmy stomach. She watched, as though she was drawing her own tattoos against myskin, leaving her mark, and branding me. “Fuck, I guess I like you.”
“OhGod, that must be terrible for you to live with,” I laughed, kicking off myshoes and jeans. I stole her hands away from my body and jumped to the bed,landing on my back and rolling her to lay against me. Still in her neatbutton-down shirt and still undeniably sexy as hell. “Tell me, Thumbelina; whatcan I do to make it better?”
“Youcan shut up, for one,” she laughed, dipping her mouth to mine as my eyes closedand she ghosted a peck on my top lip, bottom lip, both lips.
Holdingmy chin in her hand, she turned my head and pressed her kisses against mybearded cheek, memorizing the line of my jaw with closed lips, before trailingover my neck to my collarbone and chest. In bed, I believed in equalopportunity, always giving as much as I took, and I didn’t plan on tonight beingany different. But God, her lips were so damn soft, now fluttering over theflinching muscles of my stomach, moving down, down, further down with everypainful, passing second. I kept my eyes closed, allowing myself a selfishmoment to relish in the first nearly-timid touch of her lips against me throughthe fabric of my briefs. I gasped, as though I didn’t see it coming, followingwith an inward moan.
“Ifyou start with that, I can’t promise I’d ask you to stop,” I told her, my voicegruff and primal.
“Notuntil you say when, right?” she whispered, unsure of herself and her words, andI opened my eyes.
Shehad made a reference to “Everlong,” our song—wait,oursong? What thehell is that shit?
Ilooked down over my chest and stomach, to her. Biting her bottom lip, her lithenude-nailed fingertips stroking gently over the waistband of my underwear.
