We stand there, face to face, staring into each other's eyes, but not daring to touch. Seven months of texts, the occasional picture, a phone call here and there, and rare meetings in rooms full of other people have left me feeling like I know you well enough to look into your soul. But we've never been alone together, and this is all new territory.
In your eyes I see the same struggle. The overwhelming desire to reach a hand out and touch me accompanied by the fear that this next step could take us somewhere we aren't ready to go. Seven months seems like it would be enough time, doesn't it? But there have been so many compounding factors in our lives and we agreed to wait to try to make anything work until they were resolved. But life doesn't just magically, "resolve." It evolves. And, has it evolved enough?
Your finger looks like it's in slow motion as it reaches to my forehead and slowly pushes a stray lock of blond hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. And apparently you've answered that question for yourself because your hand continues to slide to the back of my head and slowly pulls my face to yours.
My name, my full name, not the nickname everyone else calls me escapes your lips just before I feel them touch mine. It's a slow kiss at first. Gentle. Your tongue slipping through my lips and into my mouth slowly, giving me the chance to pull back if I want to.
It is just a kiss. Yet, I feel my entire body weaken and lean into you, every cell seeming to respond to your touch.
When I don't pull away you tighten your grip and pull me closer to your body, hard and toned from the disciplined workouts you do every morning. Your hand slides from my head down to my back and your other hand winds its way around my waist. We are melting together, and I've lost track of where I end and you begin as my arms slip around you, pulling you to me.
I feel your fingers slide under the back of my shirt and shiver noticeably when I feel you touch my skin for the first time. You pause, uncertain, so I pull you to me even tighter, letting you know it was a good shiver. As your hands rome my bare back I tug at the hem of your shirt, eager to feel your skin. You push me away for a second, and I'm momentarily overcome with disappointment until you simply use the distance to pull your shirt over your head.
You're beautiful. I know men don't often hear that term, but you are. I'm enthralled, and trace the lines of your tattoo with my index finger. Lightly skimming your skin and feel you shiver now, and hear the intake of breath, when the tattoo leads to your nipple and I swirl my finger over it.
Emboldened by the response, I lean over just a little and flick it with my tongue. Your hand winds through my hair and the groan when I gently bite it sends surges of heat through me.
Your fingers tighten in my hair and you pull my head back up and your mouth again finds mine. It isn't gentle, this time, but full of pent up passion. Your other hand again finds the hem of my shirt, tugging it up. Your lips leave mine only long enough for you to pull it the rest of the way over my head. When you embrace me again I feel your fingers flick at the clasp on my bra and I slide hands lower to allow it to slip off. I want to feel all of your skin on mine. Your warm chest pressing against my breasts, my nipples sliding back and forth across your skin.
Your palm cups my left breast while your other hand slides over the skin on my back and waist, and it's my turn to gasp when you dip your mouth to gently tease my nipple with your tongue before wrapping both lips around it and sucking it into your mouth. My head tipped back, I lean into the hand behind me as your name escapes my lips in a moan.
