Page 66 of Her Pretty Words

I take in his face, the pure wonder in his eyes and the hint of trepidation swimming in the blue pools. His eyebrows pinch together, forming a single line of worry between the bold arches. I still believe he is undeserving of such luscious eyelashes. An orange hue from the lamp in the corner of the room is casting sharp shadows across his face, making his features appear as if they’ve been honed from rock. He looks like something nightmarish, something I shouldn’t want. His eyes have been swallowed by black ink, and a thrill runs down my spine.

When I bring my delicate hand to the sharp edge of his face, it somehow softens, and a new shadow appears in his left cheek. I touch the dimple, and the other appears. Then, I hover my lips above his, torturing him with patience. I move closer, my mouth feathering his. I pull back for a millisecond, and then I’m kissing him.

His hands tighten on my hips, and he groans. It’s such a beautiful, masculine sound, that makes every intention I had of taking this slow fall away. I press my hips into him and the only word that comes to mind isdesperation. Perhaps the spell of his lips on my neck explains my lack of vocabulary. And then, every thought I’ve ever had, every bit of hurt I’ve felt in my life is melting away like cotton candy on my tongue.

It’s beautiful to get lost this way in another person. To let yourself be vulnerable with someone you trust. To be wanted in such a way that makes someone’s body react like his does to me. I can’t imagine ever believing sex was bad or that it was wrong.This isn’t wrong.

Our clothes tangle together on the floor, both of us stripped down to our underwear. Suddenly I’m flying in his arms through the hallway, my bare back meets the door to his bedroom, and I’m soaring when he opens it and drops me onto his bed. The mattress bounces and squeaks and he takes his time watching me this way. With my laughter echoing off the walls and a smile stuck on my face. I feel my hair fanned around me, my bare chest cold and peeked.

The dim light leaking through his open door is enough for me to notice his eyes sparkling with adoration, as if I’m the most beautiful site he’s ever beheld. I want to shy away, cover my breasts and tuck my face into the thick comforter, but I don’t. Maybe it’s okay to be confident and a little scared too.

“Macy,” he says like my name is a prayer. “I know I should probably play it cool right now, but I can’t. I love this. You, in my bed, lips pink and swollen from mine.” He lowers himself so he’s above me, elbows propping him up. “I loved opening the door to find you standing there, knocking on it in the middle of the night. I love knowing you feel comfortable coming to me at any time of day. I want you to wake me up at three in the morningbecause you’re hungry for a snack and nothing in your pantry looks good. I want you to come to me. For anything.”

“That’s…quite neighborly,” I tease.

“I mean it.”

“You can come to me too,” I whisper.

He looks at me for a few moments and then nods ever so slightly. A grin slowly spreads across his face right before he grabs me and quickly maneuvers us, so his back is against the headboard and I’m straddling him. I feel every inch of him pressed against me this way, only the thin fabric of our undergarments separates us. I realize in this moment how empty I am without him. “I want you,” I whisper.

Simply looking him in the eye and expressing my wants is empowering. It shouldn’t be something I’m unused to, and right here in this moment, I promise myself I’ll never do anything I don’t want ever again.

His eyes lock on mine, not straying for a moment when he slides his hand between our bodies, cupping me over my underwear, and then letting out a hiss once he feels the moisture. “I would’ve thought I imagined those words leaving your pretty lips but…” He glances at the spot we meet. “I’m going to try not to let that go to my head.” He grins, then slips his hand beneath the soft fabric, coaxing a moan from me.

He’s swirling the tips of his fingers over the sensitive nerves, skillful in his pattern, like he’s paid attention to what feels best for me. My lips part and I glance at his hand disappearing beneath the only piece of clothing left on my body. He leans forward and circles my nipple with his tongue.Oh my…

My gasp is loud when he pushes his finger inside, curling and pumping it so my back arches, causing my chest to press into his face. He uses his thumb to stimulate the bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure. My moaning becomes sporadic.

Like a symphony halting to a stop, his fingers still. “Don’t finish,” he says gravelly. I stare down at him breathless, the back of my neck sticky with sweat.

“Why?” I ask, desperately moving my hips to gain relief.

“Because I’m not done with you.” He starts again, and it’s just a few moments until I’m close to bursting with relief.

But he stops.Again.I glare at him.

He gazes at me through thick lashes, lips parted in awe as though I’m his center of gravity. “I love when you look like you loathe me,” he says.

“You seriously need therapy,” I say between breaths.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles and then angles his face, so his lips touch mine. He whispers, “I’m going to work you so close to relief, and just as you’re on the cusp of finishing, I’ll steal it from you, until you’re writhing forme.” His bold words have my lips parting in utter shock, which he takes as an invite. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth, lips locking on mine.

I slow the pace until it’s delicate like a kiss between lovers, and then he pulls back, placing his forehead against mine. His hand cups my jaw and he whispers, “This might be more torturous for me.” I smile and he kisses it, and then he shimmies us around until I’m beneath his weight, and all I see are his eyes, the color of midnight waters.

He sprinkles tender kisses all over my body, and when he reaches the side of my abdomen, I squirm and giggle. He kisses the only piece of fabric left on my body, then slowly removes it, baring me to him. His warm lips are touching me in such an intimate way. Tasting me, he groans like I’m something delicious. He gets me so very close, I can see the sharp glare of relief, but it quickly turns dark as he steals it away, just as promised. Once my breathing has slowed a fraction, he starts again. He doesn’t stop this torturous pattern until my head is spinning and I cry out. “Please!”

He’s gazing up at me with a raised brow, his lips glistening, when he says, “Please, what?”

“Stop…doing that.It’s torture,” I whisper.

“What is it you want?” he asks in a voice nearly as pleading as mine.

“You.”

He’s suddenly reaching over, opening the drawer to his nightstand to grab a condom. He gently places his weight on me. Then his lips.

He deepens the kiss, and that’s all we do for several minutes. His innocent touch moves over my body, yet it feels incredibly intimate. He threads our fingers, lifting my arms above my head, kissing his way up to my wrists. He gazes down at me, eyelids heavy with lust. “I want you too,” he whispers. The way he says it, the intensity of his gaze makes his statement seem entirely separate from sex.

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