Page 72 of The Bar Next Door
All I can think about is what he’s giving me and how much more I want. The parts of me my eyes always criticize when I look in the mirror somehow feel worthy of worship under his touch. The wide set of my hips, the roundness of my thighs, the way my stomach is soft instead of hard: he treats it all like the most perfect body he’s ever seen.
He trails his kisses lower and lower. It’s torture and pleasure all at once. When he finally gets to the place I want him, he hovers over me, his hot breath raising goose bumps all over my body. My hips buck, trying to get closer to the pressure I need.
He lays a hand on my stomach and starts to stroke me with his free hand before sliding a finger inside. The pace is maddening, forcing me to accept every millimetre one by one.
“Pleasepleaseplease.” I don’t care how desperate I sound. Iamdesperate. “Oh god, please. More.”
His lips twitch where they’re still pressed against my thigh, and then his thumb starts to circle my clit. I want to scream. I want to wail and beg and thrash on the floor. I clap my hand tight over my mouth to hold it in.
Julien goes still.
“What?” I ask, moving my hand away when I realize he’s not going to continue. “Why did you stop?”
“Do you do that on purpose?”
I can’t tell if I should know what he’s talking about or if my confusion is more than just a product of the lust-drenched daze he’s put me in.
“Huh?” is all I manage to reply.
“You do that whenever you’re starting to come.”
Again, all I come up with is, “Huh?”
He shifts onto his elbows so he can look at me.
“You put your hand over your mouth. It’s just...You seem like you’re trying to stop yourself from making noise, and I keep meaning to tell you that you don’t have to. I just want you to know that. I want you to know you can feel comfortable with me.”
For the first time since I brought him into my apartment, I start to feel embarrassed.
“Oh, um...” I sit up, crossing my arms over my chest. He raises himself so he’s sitting too and grips my forearms.
“Monroe.” My name on his lips makes me look up from where I’ve been staring at the carpet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“No, no,” I assure him. “It’s fine. I know it’s kind of weird. I sort of forget that I do it.”
He stays silent, and I’m startled to realize I want to explain. He’s trusted me with so much. Somehow, I know I can trust him with this.
“It’s stupid. It’s really stupid. I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I do. One of the first few guys I had sex with...” I trail off to take a settling breath. “He, um, he sort of complained about how loud I was during sex. If that had happened with anyone recently, I would have sent him packing, but I was so young, and...well, I used to have a much more difficult time accepting my body. I still struggle with it sometimes, but back then it was much worse. I felt like I was so lucky to find a guy who actually wanted to sleep with me that I needed to do whatever I could to keep him, so I just...stopped being so loud.”
“Monroe—”
“I know it’s bullshit,” I interrupt. “Trust me, I know. Like I said, no one would ever be able to make me think that today, but it was a big deal for me back then, and it just stuck.”
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to tell me.”
I wrap my fingers around his where they’re still gripping my forearms. “It feels good to tell you. No one...No one has ever asked.”
“Will it help if I call that asshole some of the worst names in both the French and English languages?”
I start to chuckle in spite of myself. “I’m sorry, but did you just sayhasshole?”
He pretends to be offended. “Oh go ahead, make fun of me some more.”
“It’s just so easy,” I tease.
He shakes his head and then leans forward to kiss me. It’s tender at first, a moment of reassurance, but the heat quickly builds between us again. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pulls me onto his lap. The denim he’s still wearing is deliciously rough against my thighs. My nipples peak as my breasts press into his chest. He moans into my mouth when I start to grind against the ridge in his jeans.
“On the couch,” he growls, part command and part plea. He squeezes my ass and gives it a slap that makes me yelp before getting up to follow his directions.
