“I want to see you,” he said quietly. “All of you.”
I breathed quicker. Disentangled myself from him, my eyes locked on his, and stood. I felt like I was in a trance. I’d undressed for other men, and I wasn’t wearing much right now to begin with, but this felt different. He wasn’t just going to see my body. He was going to see me. In the way I undressed, the way I stood there under his gaze, the way I wore my skin.
He moved to the edge of the bed.
I unhooked my bra, slipped it off one shoulder. Let it fall to the floor with cool disregard.
That was the easy part.
I was breathing hard now.
His eyes moved over me, but hovered mostly on my face. That was almost worse. Who am I without this? I thought. Without the seduction I wear like armor, without my bravado and cocksure confidence? Am I really just a little girl under it all?
I tucked my thumbs into my underwear.
And I thought of myself getting into the front of that deathtrap rollercoaster all alone. Of swinging out from the water tower. Of getting into my teacher’s car.
I slipped my underwear down until it fell. Then I stepped out with one foot and kicked it away with the other. I never broke eye contact.
Evan’s lips parted in awe.
I’d like to thank the Academy.
“Now you,” I said.
He stood smoothly. His silhouette blocked the dregs of sun filtering through the curtain. It limned the edges of him, a bronze arc of light on his shoulder, the tips of his hair turning white-blond. His jeans clung tightly and he had to strip them off. He was hard again, totally hard, his boxers doing nothing to hide it. He slipped them off. My eyes didn’t know where to stop. Apparently my hands didn’t either because they were all over him, following the cascading slabs of his ribs, his abs, the smooth chevron of muscle that led to the hard dick I took and wrapped in my fingers. His hands came down on my shoulders, heavily. His breath was heavy, too. He leaned on me, eyes closed.
“I want you like this,” I said.
He looked at me as if he was drugged. I pushed him onto the bed. My knees fit to either side of his waist. We sat face to face again, but without any clothes between us. I was higher than him and he kissed my br**sts, his dick stiff against my thigh. The heat of it drove me crazy, my blood percolating, a viciousness winding up in me like a cobra preparing to strike. If he didn’t f**k me, I was going to force him.
He looked up at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said, my fingernails carving into his back.
I could have forced him. I had the leverage. But I wanted him to do it, and so I let him take his sweet, torturous time, teasing my ni**les with his teeth, sliding the whole length of himself between my thighs, pushing lightly, agonizingly, right against the focal point of that horrible ache in me. At first it was an insane test of willpower. I hit my limit again and again, somehow always starting over, finding a new reserve of patience. Then I realized that he was going to test my patience until it stopped being patience. Until I stopped waiting to be f**ked and just experienced this. I made myself let go, made my muscles unravel. Draped my arms languidly around his neck. Looked at his face without thinking anything but how light it made my heart feel, as if pumped full of helium. And when I started to zone out and he slipped inside of me, I made myself stay relaxed. I let him penetrate me so gradually there was never a moment when it felt like he was finally f**king me. It all sort of blended together, fluidly, dreamily. His arms circled my back, holding me against the soft rocking of his body. This was different. This wasn’t being f**ked. This was something happening to my entire self, not just the useful parts. There was so little tension in me I didn’t think I could come, until a warmth spreading from my hips and belly became hotter and hotter, and I looked up at the ceiling, gasping like I was surfacing for air, saying, “Come inside me, please, come inside me.” That was it. No holding back. The heat in me detonated in a gentle nuclear burst, annihilating all sensation with soft light. It came on slowly and faded slowly, leaving me tingling, buzzed. Evan kept going a little longer, and then he slowed, and stopped, and held me. He grimaced when he pulled out. He was still hard.
“You didn’t,” I said drowsily.
He kissed me.
I let it go on for a moment and then leaned back, clear-eyed. “Why?”
“I wanted it to be just for you.”
It was like he’d spoken in Greek. I stared at him.
And something very strange happened in my brain.
I rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, curling my arms around myself. My hand clamped instinctively over my mouth. The room was dark now, its shadows tinted the color of rust and old blood by the parking lot lights.
“Maise?”
The shadows swam in my eyes. I squeezed them shut.
Evan laid a hand on my back. “Why are you crying?” he said in a frightened whisper.
“I’m not,” I said, and sniffed. Perfect.
His hand stroked me tentatively. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” I laughed at myself, bitter. “I’m just a f**king headcase.”
“Why are you crying?” he said again.
“Because no one’s ever done that before.”
He swept my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Done what?”
I don’t think I was really crying about this. I think it was a cumulative effect, all the tension and anxiety of the past few weeks culminating in this perfect day, this perfect happiness. It was relief, not sadness. But he’d been the trigger, and I guess I owed him an answer.