Page 40 of Gravity
He drags in a breath and shatters in my arms. His come erupts between us, hot on my skin. We both go to his mattress together, panting and clinging to every part of each other we can hold on to. His eyes are closed, he's breathing hard, and I see his pulse hammering at the side of his neck.
My thoughts are fractured and slow. I smell him everywhere, and I want to bury my face in his hair and his pillow and wrap myself up in his blanket. This is his home, and I'm in his bed. I can't stop smiling. The sheet I pulled free of the mattress is tangled around our feet. We're too sweaty for the blanket now. Besides, the only warmth I need is his.
I find his hand and thread our fingers together as I nuzzle his cheek.
“Je t'appartiens.” His voice is a breath against my neck.
I don't know that one yet. I kiss his temple and his closed eyelid. He's still quivering. I feel his smile unfurl against my skin.
“You aren't going to scare me away.” Another kiss to his temple. “I want this as much as you do, Bryce.”
“You don't know that.”
My hand guides his face up until we're looking into each other's eyes. “Yes, I do.” I'm going to butcher this pronunciation, but I go for it, because it's the truth and he needs to hear it. “J’ai envie de toi.” I want you.
My bad pronunciation is worth it, because he smiles. No, he beams, so radiant it makes my heart just stop. “I love your smile,” I whisper. “It's the first thing that took my breath away when we met.”
“Oh,tu me dis des mots doux,” he whispers. He's still smiling. I'm still dying.
I kiss each of his fingers and then the back of his hand. “We will make this work. I know we will.”
* * *
We spendthe rest of the afternoon in bed. Cuddling, then making out, and, finally, I get my chance to go down on him. It's exhilarating, and I find another answer to a question I never knew to ask—I do love the taste and the feel of a cock in my mouth. His cock.
I love the way his fingers glide through my hair, too, and how his thighs shake and his toes curl when he comes, and how my name sounds when he's shouting it at the height of orgasm. I love how his throat arcs and how he gasps, and the long time it takes for him to come back to himself every time I get him off.
I'm quickly becoming addicted to him.
He was right earlier: he has no food in the house, save for cupboard condiments, mayonnaise, and two Gatorades in the fridge. We grab a couple bags from Guy's and drag the snacks into his bedroom, then feed each other Doritos and Twinkies and toast each other with the bottles of Gatorade.
There's a guitar leaning against his nightstand, as if he set it aside when he crawled out of bed days ago. It's newer than the one at Guy's and in better condition. I pluck a string and listen to the note fill the room. Playing the guitar was a surefire way to get a girl back in Texas. I never learned.
I'd rather listen to Bryce, so I pass the guitar to him in bed. We're both naked and propped against the headboard with our Gatorade bottles on the mattress between us. “Will you play me a song you wrote?”
“I just make things up as I go,” he says. His flush is back, and he won't look at me as he tunes the already-tuned instrument, strums the strings, and then runs his fingers over the frets. He closes his eyes.
At first, he hums to himself as music purrs from his guitar. When he starts to sing, his voice is as soft and sweet as a heartbreak.
Is this all a dream? Is this truly happening?
Did your lips touch mine?
Did you really kiss me?
And say you wanted me?
I want to be reckless
I want to make promises
I want to give you forever. I want to give you everything.
I want to climb inside a clock and control the hands of time
I want to fly forward and know
How many hours do we have?
