Page 53 of Quiet Beautiful Things

When I jump into his arms, he almost falls down and has to step back to steady us. He looks up at me, laughing. Oh, how I love the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. And his teeth… What I want them to do to me has heat flushing my entire upper body.

This time, I’m the one initiating the kiss as my lips crash down onto his. With us holding on to each other, there’s nowhere for hands to roam. There’s no need, however, because our heated kiss says it all. That there’s more to come. That this is just the tip of the iceberg. That what we’re about to do to each other is everything we’ve both thought about for weeks.

Out of breath, I lean away. But with my hands gripping him tightly, I can’t talk. I nod to the door on the right and mouth “bedroom.”

I think he says, “Hell yeah.” But I can’t be sure. And since he’s carrying me in that direction, it doesn’t really matter.

My bedroom is dark. He puts me on the bed, hovers over me, then retreats. He turns the light on. It’s a small gesture, but one that somehow etches him further into my soul.

“Do you want to keep the light on?” he asks.

I get out my phone.

Me: Turn that one off but keep the door open. That way there will be enough light for me to see your face, but not enough so that you’ll see all my imperfections.

He reads the text then signs, “Show me imperfection,” fingerspelling the last word.

I do the sign for imperfect, loving the fact that he’s always eager to learn. There are a few parts to it as it really means inadequate, defective, or not perfect. I do it a few more times.

He repeats it. Then he says and signs, “Nothing about you is imperfect.”

That’s it. Stick a fork in me. My throat becomes thick with emotion. This man. Thishearingman just called me perfect. I should get up now. I should run far away. Because I know, deep down, I’m falling for him. And falling for a guy like him can only lead to heartbreak. But damn it, the way he’s looking at me right now has me cemented to the bed, my body unwilling to accept the facts that my mind has concluded.

So I do the opposite of run. I pull my shirt over my head, leaving him staring at my chest that’s only covered by my nothing-special, didn’t-know-this-would-happen bra.

“From now on, only my hands will take off your clothes,” he says as clear as day, striding toward me.

He climbs onto the bed as my breath hitches at my racing thoughts. Thoughts of him removing my clothes. Of seeing Blake Montana naked. Of him touching me… everywhere.

“Same,” I sign, making his smile appear once again.

“Whatever you want, Ellie.” He does my name sign. Then he stills. “Is it okay if I do your name sign, or can only deaf people do it?”

I nod. “It’s okay.”

“Good. But don’t be offended if—”

I don’t catch the rest of his sentence in the dim light. I narrow my eyes. He retrieves his phone.

Blake: I said good, but please don’t be offended if you see me screaming your name instead of signing it in a few minutes. I’m not sure I’ll be able to help myself.

He watches me as I read it. Then when I blush, he does my name sign and laughs.

“You are beautiful,” he signs. “Beautiful Ellie.”

I reach out, fist the front of his shirt, and pull him down to me. But this time, his lips don’t crash into mine. They lightly brush them. Teasing. Taunting. He kisses one edge of my mouth, then the other. Then he kisses my neck, his tongue darting out to lick my skin. He works his mouth up to my ear where I feel his hot breath flow over my earlobe. I can’t help it when my hips arch and press into him. I want him to touch me. Ineedhim to do it.

I take one of his hands and press it to my chest, pushing down one of the cups of my bra to give him better access. He stares at my bare breast as his erection grows between us. I’m pretty sure he says, “Jesus,” right before his mouth devours it.

My eyes close as I bask in the feeling of his mouth on me. His tongue toys with my nipple. His lips pucker as he sucks it into his mouth. His teeth ever so lightly graze it.

Vibrations dance in my throat. At the same time, Blake’s head pops up, eyes wide. He’s pleased that I moaned. Before heresumes what he was doing, he unclasps my bra and discards it completely. Then he looks down at his shirt and back at me.

I crack a smile and untuck his Montana Winery shirt. He ducks low as I pull it up and over his head. I almost mimic his word of praise when I see his chest. It’s no wonder he has a gym in his house. The man is ripped. I trace a finger along the lower side of his pecs, then down along his ab muscles that ripple as I touch them. His eyes close briefly. Does he like the feel of my hands on him as much as I like his on me?

When his eyes open, there’s a fire behind them I’ve never seen. A passion I’ve never witnessed. I swallow the fleeting thought that this could turn into more. I push it to the back of my mind and lock it inside a box along with other things I can never have: closure with my birth father, and getting my virginity back from the asshole I gave it to.

I tense under him and he stills. “You okay?”

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