"Are you going to tell me how you feel?"
"Honestly, Sarah, no. I'm not. Not until I know what's going on."
********
I expected that, despite what Steven had said about doing things his way, we would be heading to his bedroom.
I was wrong.
Steven continued to perch on the edge of the couch by my knees, and we talked. After a while, he moved so my legs were in his lap, one of his arms around my shoulder, me facing him while he faced forward. His hand roamed over my back, up to stroke my hair, and down to rub my neck. Despite trying to pay attention to his words, his hands were distracting. I reveled in it.
I discovered, sitting in this comfortable position, that I could lean forward very slightly and put my head on Steven's shoulder. I did that, and we readjusted so my legs were tucked partially under me and hanging off the couch. It was slightly less comfortable for my sore ankle, but it gave me more contact against Steven's side, and I needed it. Despite talking about subjects that weren't in the least intimidating or scary, and despite Steven making me laugh, I was nervous. I had the jitters, wondering when, and if, he would make a move. In spite of that, I noticed he smelled good. Really good.
I tucked my shoulder under Steven's armpit and snuggled up to his side, my head now against his chest and my arm wrapped around his stomach. I could feel Steven's chin resting on my head, and he kissed the top of my head periodically. His left arm was over my shoulder, holding me close to his chest, his hand intermittently stroking my hair and the side of my face. His free right hand slowly caressed my other arm. With my head on his chest like that I could hear the soft lub-dub of Steven's heart, and the quiet whoosh each time he breathed. His words resonated through his chest and vibrated in my head as he spoke.
As we sat, sometimes talking, sometimes quiet, my left hand would lightly explore. First up across Steven's strong chest, to his right shoulder, and down his arm. My fingers traced his where they sat on his belly. From there I mapped out the gentle curve of his abdomen, down to his belt, then wrapping my arm around his flank I pulled myself close to him for another hug. Then I would start again, this time my hand traveling up to his neck, his smooth, cleanly shaven cheek, and back to run briefly through his hair. I played with every exposed button on the front of his semi-casual shirt, and fidgeted with the collar.
Steven told me how he had had a stern conversation with his crazy dog (who I had decided I was permanently going to call Lassie) about waking guests in the middle of the night. I started laughing. He also told me about having to carry my limp body off the couch, into the spare bedroom, and onto the bed last night. He described undressing me and putting me into his t-shirt in such a colourful way that I couldn't help but giggle more. I had never thought about how difficult removing a bra from a lifeless, slumped over person would be. I couldn't believe how deeply I must have been sleeping! His t-shirt was currently folded away in my drawer at home, a memento I planned to keep.
"Sarah?"
"Yeah?" I mumbled, into his chest.
"That's really distracting, honey."
Without paying attention to what I was doing, my fingers had sneaked under Steven's shirt collar, and were teasingly playing along his collarbone, my touch so soft it must have been tickling him. I smiled to myself, and kept playing with his skin.
"Sorry," I lied.
He tried to carry on talking, while my fingers quested along his clavicle, then up his neck to his jaw, all the time barely touching, the lightest of caresses. He stuttered, and stopped talking, lifting his chin up and tilting his head, slightly, to give me more access to his vulnerable and obviously sensitive neck.
"You win this round, you little witch," he laughed, and held my hand still to the side of his face as I giggled. He turned his head, slightly, and kissed my palm. I was amazed at the heat of his lips on my hand.
I turned my head, tilted it up at an awkward angle, so I could see his face. He released my hand, and his right hand stroked my cheek, softly, and played with one of the ringlets surrounding my face. Ever since the first night we met, I loved it when he did that; this time was no exception.
I met his eyes, and I could see the conflict inside him. He was clearly burning to ask all the questions that were troubling him - why was I doing this, should he trust me? - but he seemed to decide not to.
Instead, as I was opening my mouth to say something, anything, to change the subject, he leaned down towards me and kissed me.
Steven and I had shared some passionate kisses in the short period of time we'd been together, but this one blew the rest away. His lips were soft and supple against mine, planting tantalizing little pecks along my lower lip, then oh-so-gently sucking it into his mouth, just enough to make me gasp, before moving to my upper one and repeating the process. I was lost in the tenderness of his caress, a willing follower, as we dropped little kisses on every surface of each other's lips. He intermittently flicked mine with his tongue, quickly and teasingly, making me moan each time I felt the touch. I opened my mouth, wanting to feel his tongue against mine, but he playfully pulled away and sucked gently on my lower lip again.
We shifted so we faced each other, my chest pressed tightly up against his. My right arm, which had been tucked between our bodies, wrapped around his back, clutching a handful of his shirt. My left hand moved to the back of his head, pulling him to me, desperate for his mouth to devour mine. He leaned back against the couch, pulling me up against him so we were at equal apparent height. His left hand tangled in my curly hair, holding our faces tightly together. His right hand, however, remained free to explore.
It started behind my back, pressing firmly against the tight muscles under my shoulder blade, and then up to briefly rub the back of my shoulder and side of my arm. Sliding down again it slipped around my flank, and I could feel his fingers against my ribs, with just enough pressure not to tickle. He repeated this motion, over and over, occasionally running his fingers along my arm all the way up where my hand cradled his head. His little pecks and kisses were driving me up the wall, my desire a lick of flame traveling along my insides from my face where he was kissing and nibbling me so lovingly, down my throat, and pouring like liquid fire through my chest.
I could barely breathe - I felt like I was drowning, but I had no desire to save myself. I surrendered to his passion, clinging to him like he was my only hope, returning his kisses, licking and sucking his lips when I was able between gasps and moans. I couldn't get enough of him, and continued to try to pull him closer and closer to me, until he was leaning over me, his weight pressing me back on the couch.
I have no idea how long we spent kissing; it felt like hours. All I could feel was the wonderful sliding of mouth on mouth, the hesitant touching of one moist tongue on another, the outpouring of love flowing from me to him, attempting to demonstrate what I had already admitted to him in words.
