Page 28 of The Fall
My last thread of consciousness is tethered to Blair’s touch, to his lips on my shoulder as he kisses me, slowly, gently.
So this is what it feels like to be found.
Consciousness returns in blurry stages. I reach for Blair, my fingers tangling in cool, empty sheets.
He’s not here.
I crack open my eyes, squinting against the light that puddles through the ajar bathroom door. Steam slips through the gap.
My heart stumbles, caught between ache and anticipation.
Blair is in there.
I imagine it: water sluicing over his broad shoulders, down the swoop of his back, leading down to the curve of his ass. My mouth is dry.
It’s been a while, and never with a man. Well?—
God, this is too fucking confusing. My memories have skipped over the part where I apparently decided this—and decided him—was what I wanted. The Blair I remember is a stranger. The Blair in that shower is my lover. Loving him is muscle memory, buttouchinghim... It still feels like a line I’ve never dared to cross.
Do I dare?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I need to remember. I want to touch him, and I want him to touch me. I follow the pull of him.
The closer I get to the bathroom, the more the air grows heavier, warmer. It’s stupid to feel nervous, I tell myself.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. I can turn back, crawl back into bed, pretend I’m still asleep when Blair returns. A thousand questions flash through me.
But beyond this door is Blair.
I’m doing this.
I tighten my grip on the knob, and then I’m turning it, pushing the door open. Warmth rushes over me. The bathroom is soft edges and glistening surfaces—fogged mirrors, puddled tiles—and the shower is glass-walled, encased in fog. Blair is a dark silhouette behind the steamed glass, water running over the broad planes of his body.
Shit, he’s beautiful.
Water streams down him, little rivers flowing over the contours of his body. He rakes his hands through his hair, head tilted back under the spray. Water beads on his eyelashes, drips down his jaw, falls to his collarbones and races down his chest,then disappears into the dark trail of hair across his stomach, vanishing down into?—
I am desperate to touch him. Was he really my lover? Was he who I was allowed to love? And did he want me, too? How is that possible?
Step forward, and I might find out. Stay, and I might never learn the truth.
I shed my clothes, leave them puddled on the floor. I’m acutely aware of my body, of every inch of skin, every goose bump, every shaky exhale. Blurred memories flicker like heat mirages: his hands wrapped around me, the scrape of his stubble against my inner thigh, pleasure sparking through me. I’m half-hard already, trembling, rookie-nervous. This is so much more than walking into a shower.
This is crazy. I’m crazy. But I’m already here, and I can’t turn back. Fear wars with my fumbling confidence. I have no idea what to do. I’m supposed to be his lover, but I don’t know the first thing about what I’m doing.
A warm cloud of steam envelops me when I open the shower door. Blair’s facing away from me, his head under the spray. “Blair,” I say, my voice barely louder than the hiss of the water.
He turns, and?—
All of my terror, all of my fear, melt away. It’s Blair; my heart and soul know him.
I’m hypnotized by him. Drops of water slide down his arms, and little rivers trickle down his torso, slip around the heft of his cock and down his thick thighs. His eyes drop to my mouth. I want so badly to be kissed but have no idea if?—
“I figured you were out for another hour,” he says.
“I didn’t want to waste the morning.” My skin is too tight, like it’s a layer that needs to be peeled off to get to the real me.
He tugs me forward until there’s no room left between us. I sway toward him, needing more. I want to catalog every color in his eyes, measure how his pupils dilate when our bodies align.
