Page 95 of Glass Half Full
“You little shit.”
He pushes back off the wall and captures my mouth in another kiss. It’s sweet and tender but tinged with the remnants of the fire between us, the one that’s stoking itself back up with every second. By the time he pulls away from my mouth, I’m grinding on his leg again and he’s gripping my waist hard enough to hurt, nails digging into my skin.
“Do you want it?” he asks. “Do you want me to do this?”
“Yes.” I nod, my vision almost blurry with desire. “Yes. Please. Please do it.”
He wraps his hand around my throat and rests it there, not applying any pressure yet. I shiver at just the weight of his touch. He swears.
“You can go harder,” I urge.
He blows out a breath. “Shake your head whenever you want me to stop, okay?”
I nod again. His fingers tighten their grip. He squeezes until my breath catches and a strangled sound escapes my throat. His eyes go wide with alarm, and he starts backing off, but I put my hand over his before he can pull it away.
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “I like it. I want to keep going, if you do.”
I want to be patient. I want to be understanding. This is his choice too. That doesn’t stop my thighs from clenching around his as a spasm of desire wracks my core.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
The pressure of his grip returns. I keep rocking my hips, twitching with need and gasping out shallow spurts of breath as he continues squeezing my neck. His hand is big enough to wrap nearly all the way around it, and as our eyes lock, both our stares hazy and drunk on intensity and power, I realize how truly intimate this moment is. My life is literally in his hands. I’ve never trusted someone like this, offered someone this much. There’s almost a tenderness to it, like we’re standing in a tableau meant to represent a bond that can’t be broken.
I can hear the thump of my pulse in my ears, the very pulse he’s got his fingers wrapped around. My body contracts again, arching toward him, thrusting against him, begging for more pressure. I need the pressure. I need it everywhere.
My hands slap at the tiles behind me. Dylan tilts his head, checking in with me, and I nod to tell him I’m all right. His free hand has been braced against the wall, but now it trails down the side of my body, reaching lower until he crosses the bottom of my stomach and brushes his thumb over my clit.
I let out a moan. He keeps teasing me, flicking his thumb back and forth until he finally slips into the rhythm he’s learned by heart over the past few months. He knows my body better than anyone has before. He knows just how to push me over the edge.
“That’s it,” he urges, panting hard. “That’s it. Come for me, Renee. Come with my hand around your throat.”
That’s all it takes before I’m lost to the world. My brain begs for oxygen as my body begs for him, thrusting against him again and again and again, straining for every last ounce of pleasure. I see stars. I see fire. I see words. The most beautiful poem I’ve ever written burns itself into the backs of my eyelids before fading to embers and then dust.
There are some poems that aren’t meant to be spoken—just lived.
Dylan folds me in his arms when it’s over, and the water washes over us both. My bathroom fills with steam. My legs start to get tired. Still, we don’t move. It’s only when the temperature of the shower drops a few degrees that we finally force ourselves to get out.
I grab us towels, and we dry off before making our way to my bed. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but I’m exhausted. Dylan pulls the fluffy blanket at the foot of the mattress over us, and I flip over to face him, our heads just inches apart on my pillows.
“I could fall asleep.” A yawn escapes me after I say it.
Dylan smiles. “I’d be down for a nap.”
“Turns out being choked really takes it out of you. Who knew?”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and then cup my cheek.
“I’m honored that you trust me that much,” he says solemnly. “That was one of the most intense experiences of my life. The way you moved, the feel of your pulse under my hand, I just...I’ve never felt like this with anyone before.”
I lean my head into his touch. “I trust you so much. I’ve never felt like this either. I want a future with you, Dylan. I want to take it on together.”
“Hell yeah.” Some of his usual lightness comes back. “You’re gonna call me cheesy, but...everything is better with you by my side.”
We’ve been by each other’s sides ever since the night of the slam back in November. Maybe not physically—Dylan moved in December, and though we visit each other regularly, we still spend weeks at a time apart—but I know no matter where he is, for every step we take, he’s got my back and I’ve got his. I’ve been there to see him work through his first-day-of-class nerves to flourishing at college within just a few weeks. When and if I go back to school in the fall, I know he’ll be there to see me do the same.
“Not cheesy.” I shake my head against the pillow and then pretend to reconsider. “Well, maybe a little, but I guess I’m cheesy too, because Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
