Page 21 of Keep Me Still
And I’m aching for him to touch me. All reason is fleeing the room leaving nothing in the space we occupy other than want. Need.
His fingers graze the edge of my panties as he places another gentle open-mouthed kiss on my inner thigh. And another. He’s waiting for permission. He won’t push any further without it.
I let my hands twist in his hair and try to think straight.
I’ve never been kissed and I’m about to let him put his fingers inside me. Or go down on me. Or both. Whatever he’s about to do, I’m about to let him. I’ve heard girls talking about it in the locker room and on the bus. I know what it is. I live in the world. It just never sounded all that appealing until right this moment.
“You can touch me,” I say softly into the darkness.
“Layla,” he groans, pulling his hand back a few inches.
“I want you to.” It’s true. I’m ready. Ready for all of it. As long as it’s with him. I trust him. I’m high from the realization. Or maybe from his hands and mouth touching me in between my legs. Both probably.
“Layla, your aunt’s ready to go,” his mom calls from the top of the stairs.
I nearly have a heart attack right that second.
The intimacy between us snaps, slapping us both back to reality. Landen sits up so fast he nearly headbutts me. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I don’t know what I was—”
“It’s fine. Stop.” I grab his hand and squeeze as I stand up and smooth my dress down over my thighs. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” My legs tremble beneath me as I try to make my way around the couch through the darkness.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice and it makes me smile. This Thanksgiving wasn’t such a bust after all.
“Very funny.”
He stands and starts to walk to the stairs beside me. “I’ll walk you out.”
As much as I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want him to have another run-in with his dad even more. “Stay. I’m a big girl. I can find my own way out.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” The evenness of his tone makes me sad. He’s really not afraid. He’s completely accepted the fact that his own flesh and blood could jack his jaw just for the heck of it at any time.
Placing a hand on his chest, I press him back towards the couch. “I know you’re not. But I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one night. Don’t you?”
He sits and I can feel his head at my waist. “Maybe.”
I run my fingers through his hair one last time. “Happy Thanksgiving, Landen.”
He snorts out loud. “Right.”
“Hey. Don’t do that. I got to see you. Normally holidays are Stove Top from the microwave or pizza in front of the television. We don’t go too crazy since it’s just the two of us. But I got to see you, so it’s good. I’m happy.”
“You are?” There’s an emotion thickening his voice that I don’t have a name for.
“Not that your dad is such a jerk, but that I got to be with you. Yes.”
“That helps,” he says so low I almost don’t hear.
“Hey, my aunt said you could come to the house and stay for a while. If you want.” My eyes are finally adjusting, and I can see that he’s leaning back into the couch with his head tilted back.
“I can’t leave my mom. If I’m not here when’s he’s…I just can’t leave her.”
His words wrench something loose inside of me. Landen the protector. Mine and his mom’s. I can’t kiss him goodbye on the mouth because if I do I’ll never leave and Aunt Kate will have to come drag me out. But I can’t just walk out either. Not after everything.
Leaning over from behind him, I slide my arms down his chest and press my mouth to his abused jaw in a whisper of kiss. I let my lips graze the side of his face from his jawline to his temple before placing a lingering kiss on his forehead.
I don’t know how exactly, but somehow I know it’s enough.
Threeweeks later, neither of us has mentioned the events of Thanksgiving. But things are different. Easier somehow. The high school marching band goes by, playing our school fight song. Landen’s arms wrap me from behind, and I’m dizzy from inhaling his cologne and clean soap smell. His full lips barely graze the side of my neck, just above my scarf, and my knees go weak. He’s getting braver. Probably because I never stop him. I press my backside closer against him, relishing in the closeness.
