Page 128 of Paradox
“Well, I’ve had nothing but you to look at for days. So a complete 360 degree whitewash would be a welcome change.”
The look on his face is priceless. And when he tries to stand up, I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, which sends him tumbling to the rug with me landing on top of him.
“I guess I win again,” I say, tapping him smugly on the cheek.
“Only because I let you.”
Lying down stomach first on top of him, I stack my hands in the middle of his chest and rest my chin on them. “A win is still a win.”
“And getting you on top of me is still getting you on top of me.”
“Don’t you dare try to claim that this was your plan all along.”
“Why not?” he asks, dragging his hand up from my lower back to between my shoulders.
“Because you’re not that smart.”
He does a little shrug, and says, "You’re right,” then pulls my body further up on his so he can kiss me again.
I love these sweet, gentle make out sessions.
I love feeling his body against mine, and knowing that—after the almost fifteen years more experience he has than I do—that he can still get enough out of such innocence. But if our time together has taught me anything, it’s that Eden van der Hart exists in two starkly different forms.
There’s the kind, thoughtful, but distant man who holds my heart in his hands. And the attentive but menacing, sexually fuelled demon that owns my body. And as for my mind… It’s somewhere in between, always trying to place meaning because we are a ballad of extremes. When our dicks are hard, we’re poetry in motion, but when push comes to shove, it seems like all we do is push and shove. Neither of us is willing to budge on what we want from the other. And because we still struggle to talk, we work out our frustrations with our bodies until we’re so spent we’ve forgotten what we were angry about in the first place…
With both my hands on the rug on either side of his head, I raise myself up. “I wanna make a cake.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I do a push up, and peck his lips. “Please.”
“There’s no ingredients.”
“There’s flour.”
“It’s bread flour.”
“There’s pancake mix.”
“Jin—”
“And coffee. And chocolate. And maple syrup.”
“And what if it tastes like shit?”
“But what if it tastes amazing?”
“But what if it tastes like shit?”
“Then I promise to eat it all. I’ll force it down. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, until it’s gone.”
“That’sallyou’ll be eating.”
“Fine… What if I make carrot cake?”
“Why don’t you stick to chocolate first?”
“Can I have the hazelnut block? I wanna chop it up so there are crunchy bits inside, too.”
