It's comfortable, sitting against him. Three weeks dating, and tonight I wasn't sure whether I should come home with him, but this feels right. His couch is one of those that you just sink back into, so between his arms and the feel of the loveseat, I feel like I've sunk into a right sized nest.
He can't know that these moments are my favorite in a kiss, or that it's been forever since someone's thought to do this, to slip from the kiss into just sucking my lower lip between his own lips. I love the sensation, the tugging of it, lower lip or upper lip the same--it's tantalizing, and makes me feel delicate in a way that he probably doesn't imagine. And his hands are right, too. He's doing everything right. His right hand is on my face, thumb below my chin, palm against my cheek, and his other is in the small of my back, fingers spread. He tastes like cinnamon.
"I need to breathe," I whisper into his lips, and then I lick my lip automatically when he pulls back, and he smiles as if he knows what I'm thinking, that I don't ever really want to stop this. His eyes are sparkling, and I can't help giggling for a moment when he makes a show of lighting candles on the table in front of the couch.
His profile is sharp, and I realize for the first time that, although he's fairly average looking, his profile is striking, almost classical in strength. He's lighting a third candle when I reach out one hand from my perch on the couch, just to run my fingers down the side of his face. He looks over, and smiles at me, the one crooked tooth in his smile becoming more and more endearing, less annoying than when we first met. His hair is tussled, and I'm glad that I'm the reason for it.
That's a realization. I'm truly glad that I'm the reason for it. It's a brown sandy color, and probably long enough that plenty of others would say he needs a haircut, but I think it's perfect.
"I like your chin," I tell him. He half squints at me, as if he thinks that one glass of wine might have pushed me toward tipsy, but I just laugh back at him. "Seriously--I never noticed before, but it's...well, it's a good chin."
"Well, I'm glad you like it, I guess. I'd rather kiss yours, though." He leans back into me, and I tremor when I feel his hand slip up underneath my shirt in back to make slow circles on my skin. His nibbles on my upper lip force my eyes to close, and I let him turn us until my back is solely against the side of the couch and he's beside me, turned toward me to the point where both of us are more lying down than sitting, his hand having moved around to rest on my bare stomach.
I'm nervous, and I know he can feel it--however right this feels, I know it's fast, and that alone is enough to give me a pause. "Can I take this off?" he asks. He's toying with the hem of my shirt, and I know he can tell that I want him to, to see me--his reluctant question is only because of my nerves.
"I...yeah." My answer is breathy, and just hearing it makes me blush, because I know he can hear in my voice how I feel about him. Part of me thinks I should just go with things tonight, that no matter what happens tomorrow, I won't regret this because of the way I feel about him. The thinking part of me knows that if the worst happens tomorrow, I may not regret what happened, but I'll be more attached and hurt, having gone through with this.
Still, I lift my arms when he slips my shirt up, and the look on his face looking at me is more than I would have hoped. He's got that set to his mouth that men so often get when're looking at something they want, jaw set and lips half pursed, and though the look on his face is gentle, his eyes are flying, and I know what he's thinking.
"Will...I do want this, but just one step at a time, okay? I'm trying to catch my breath as is." I half laugh and he smiles back at me, and I know I've never seen so much desire in someone's eyes staring into mine.
"Okay, I'm gonna freeze, but you gotta tell me something in the meantime."
He is still, but the hand below my heart isn't anything to help my breath or my heart go slower; I wish I were as relaxed as he seems to be. "Okay, what are you wondering?"
"I'm wondering why you came here with me if you're so nervous--I'm glad you did--I'm just not sure I understand." He looks at me without any trace of a smile for the first time all day or night, and I realize just how strange this may seem.
"I like you, Will, and I trust you. It's just been a long time since I've gotten this close to anyone, and besides the fact that this is moving faster, I'm more...well, attached...than I've ever been anywhere near so early. It's just a little scary for me."
He smiles at me as if he's relieved, and I wonder what he was expecting or afraid that I'd say.
"Is this scary?"
Before I can react, he's slid down until his lips are at the lace trim of my bra, over my breast, toying with the rim, his other hand cupping my other breast. I gasp as his lips move back and forth, the trim slowly being pulled back toward the underwire of the bra and his lips finding their goal. One of my hands has been on his shoulder since we lay back, and my other now finds its way down, pulling up his shirt until my hand can slip beneath it from behind and feel his bare skin. I feel the barest skim of his teeth and my nails drift along his back, back and forth.
One of my knees lifts of its own volition, my leg cocking naturally as my back aches to arch with every breath he's breathing against me. "Hmmm?" He mumbles.
"I don't think...I said anything, at least, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't mean to." I feel him chuckle at my stuttering, though I don't hear it.
"You're beautiful," he says, and I look at him, his eyes back to focusing on mine. "I'm serious. You're smiling like I'm not, but Jesus am I serious."
He's frozen half above me, angled over me with an elbow propping him up beside me and that hand on my back, his other hand resting around my right breast.
"You're overdressed, Will." It's more of a whisper than should be audible, but this close, he hears. He shrugs and sits up partially as I catch the bottom hem of his shirt and let it drift up over his arms and head until we're nearly even. He looks at himself, and at my bra, and raises his eyebrows. I take a breath and nod even as he's reaching behind me with both arms, a loose hug as he fiddles with the snaps on my bra. I have to laugh at his face, because it's taking him longer than it should, but in a way it's a relief that he's no expert at undoing bras blind. Finally it loosens, and his hands move back around me, each holding one side until he's passed the straps around my arms and can drop it over the side of the couch with one arm.
"We're even, now," I breathe into his ear.
"Almost," he says, and smiles at me the way he did the first time we met, when we traded looks past mutual friends at a movie theater. "Take off your earrings." I purse my lips, smiling, and undo them, handing them to him so he can reach behind him to drop them on the coffee table behind us. "And your hair scarf." It's mostly slipped away already, but I reach up and pull it all the way from my hair, handing it to him as well to be dropped with my bra beside the couch. I watch him watching me, and finally I ask if we aren't even yet.
"Yeah, we're there for now," he says, dropping his lips against mine and forming my back back to the couch, half underneath his weight. His left hand is still beneath my back, moving idly around my shoulder blades, his nails brushing my skin enough so that I can feel the tingle of the contact and not be marked at all. His other hand is on the line of my waist, straddling the line between my bare skin and my jeans.
I don't know how long we go on. My breathing is heavy, heavier than his, or at least it seems so, maybe because I can feel my heart beat so vividly, and I wonder if he can, as well. His lips feel as if they've always known mine, and his hands are both relaxed and insistent enough that my brain can't catch its breath anymore than my body can.
He's barefoot, and every few minutes I feel his toes tickling at the bottom of mine, making my whole body twitch with the sensation. He's taller, and has the advantage here, but finally in the midst of our kiss I spring my hands away from his shoulders and aim one for his ribs, the other for the base of his neck, sprinkling my fingers against his skin and giggling already at the moment he breaks the kiss to squirm away from my hands and try to stop them, laughing in gulps of air after the tickling.
He catches my hands fairly quickly, and I'm left thinking I should have predicted this, thinking maybe my subconscious, at least, knew. He's leaning on his elbow, one hand at my cheek, the other hand holding both my wrists just below my breasts. My heart flurries at the helpless position I'm in, but still I know I can trust him not to hurt me.
"Now, why did you do that?" he asks, and I just giggle briefly in response, smiling up at him. He knows he started it and that that's all I could say. He lifts me up halfway, briefly, when he reaches behind me, and I break into struggles when I realize he's going for my scarf. Still, it's only moments before my wrists are tied securely together in the lace scarf that held my hair neatly back two hours ago. "You're stuck."
"Will, come on--I won't tickle you again, I swear."
