“I’m saluting, in case you’re wondering.”
I imagine clearly the exact gesture he’s making. “Put your middle finger down, asshat, before someone thinks you’re flipping them off and drives your ass off the road. I need you.”
“No comment.”
“None expected.”
*** *** ***
GRAHAM
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this content. Not that I don’t want more. Because God, I do. But I’m not desperate enough to forsake the need to hold her close, to feel her heart beat against me, to require nothing more than the exquisite fusing of our mouths and the stroke of our fingers over each other.
We lie entwined in the center of the bed, spent from a couple of hours of kissing that set fire to every emotion I’ve ever felt for this girl. I know she can tell that I’ve held myself in check a couple of times, physically—a small crease appears on her forehead, or she affects a marginal withdrawal of her own. I hope she knows there’s no need for her worry. As much as I want her, I’ve been falling in love with her for months, and sleeping with someone you’re in love with shifts everything to a more complex level. I can’t go there alone. I have to know she’s going with me.
As if sensing my heavy thoughts, she turns her face up from my shoulder and stares into my eyes, silent. My fingertips continue caressing her arm, up and over her shoulder, down her back, and I shamelessly examine the distinctive facets of her gray-green eyes, savoring the unguarded way she allows me to study her. My head tells me it’s far too soon to tell her everything my heart wants me to blurt out. The last thing I want to do is scare her away. I’ll take as long as she needs, be more patient than I’ve ever been, if it means she’ll be mine in the end. I’m not afraid of my own feelings. I’m only afraid of misjudging hers.
The words lay on my tongue, unspoken. Waiting. My fingers have wandered up her back, rising and falling over each tiny arch of vertebrae until I reach her neck. Shifting, I lean over her and kiss her gently. My lips are sore and I know hers must be, too, though I’ve tried to use restraint. I smile now, knowing that any restraint I’ve employed didn’t last long. I’ve practically devoured her for the past two hours. From the bedside table, our phones have beeped and buzzed a couple of times each, but neither of us made any move towards them.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, her voice rasping between regular speech and a whisper, a tentative answering smile on her red, red mouth.
“I was thinking about how sore my lips are, and wondering if yours are, too.”
She nods, her smile expanding. “I don’t think I can feel them.”
“Can you feel this?” I ask, leaning closer to run my tongue over her swollen lower lip, dipping inside her mouth when she opens with a sigh.
“Mmm-hmm,” she says, raising her hand to my face and holding me just so, mirroring my effort. When her small tongue slips inside my mouth, I release a moan that sounds more like a growl and then I’m rattling off baseball statistics and diagramming sentences in my head. (I was so sure last semester’s Advanced Structures of Modern English would never come to any practical use.)
“Maybe,” my voice breaks and I clear my throat, “Maybe we should get dinner… or something.”
She blinks, and I’m glad to see she’s as affected as I am. “Room service and a movie?” She gestures to the television, reading my mind.
“Sounds perfect. I don’t want to leave this room. Well, I mean, not until I have to. Um—”
“Would you… want to sleep here?” Her eyes fall, watching her own hand where it lays on my chest, rising and falling with every breath I take. My heartbeat accelerates with her words; she must feel it pounding under her palm. “We only have a couple of days, and I’ll probably fall asleep if we’re up late…”
She doesn’t mention the biggest impediment—the fact that thanks to the ruse she and Reid are perpetrating, she and I can’t be demonstrative in public. Her room—and mine—are like private islands. The only places we’ll be safe to touch unguardedly.
“And you want me here when you wake up?” She nods, and I kiss her carefully. “I would love to stay with you tonight, Emma.” Tipping her chin up, I look into her eyes. “And I’m not taking that as an invitation for anything other than sleeping next to you.”
***
After dinner, I walk to my room to grab a toothbrush and clean stuff to wear tomorrow, checking my phone messages on the way. No calls from home, but one missed call and a text from Brooke. Basic Hi babe, are you here yet? stuff. Texting back that I’m all checked in, I tell her I’m going to bed early—using the three-hour time difference as an excuse for my exhaustion.
True to her word, Emma’s out cold before the second movie is over. Cuddled up against my side, she sleeps on her stomach, a pillow flattened under her face and chest, one of her knees drawn up against my thigh and the other sprawled behind her. I grin and shake my head that such a small person can take up so much of a queen-sized bed. Her face angled towards me, her lashes lay across her creamy skin and her lips are parted slightly… and they actually do look a little puffy.
That thought has me contemplating noun phrases (Emma’s lips) and verb phrases (are swollen) and prepositional phrases (from hours of kissing)… which does absolutely nothing to help me. When a groan escapes me, Emma moans softly in response, shifting without waking, her arm stealing across my abdomen. Oh, man. I am never getting to sleep. Still, I wouldn’t trade the feeling of holding her like this for anything.