Before long, he’s gripping my hair and pulling me away. Then he’s kissing me with renewed passion. He pauses to unlace his boots and pull off his socks. I take the opportunity to kiss his back, his shoulder, his bicep. He comes back to my mouth, and I pull off his jeans and underwear. He’s barely kicked them away before he’s sliding down my panties.
I’m not quite sure how we get on the floor, but we do. I push him down so I can taste every inch of warm, sweet-smelling skin. Every tense muscle and delicious groove. As I’m working on his chest, I’m vaguely aware of him pulling his wallet from his jeans and rolling on a condom.
When he’s done, he pushes me onto my back and settles between my legs. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of him like this. Naked and glorious. He towers over me with eyes that are somehow black but also full of fire. He studies my face as he braces on one arm, his broad shoulders tense, and then I feel him, pressing forward.
Oh.
The sweet, ecstatic pressure.
I look at him in awe. This feeling. This slow, intense filling. So different from the first time we did this. There’s still some discomfort as my inexperienced flesh gets used to being stretched, but there’s none of the previous resistance. No pain. Just the incredible miracle of one body joining with another.
Within a few gentle thrusts, he’s inside, and oh, God, I’m not big enough for the inferno of feelings he ignites in me.
His mouth is open. Eyes heavy and blinking.
How can he possibly think we can’t work when we’re like this? This is bigger than fear. More important than doubt.
He starts to move, slowly at first, his jaw clenched in determination. Then, his need takes over and he gains momentum. Every thrust brings him deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, and watch as his face morphs through different layers of pleasure. He’s magnificent.
He tangles his hands in my hair. Kisses my chest. Suckles on my neck. Through it all, he’s moving, long slides that make me quake and gasp. Heat crawls up my neck as pleasure spins inside me. When he increases his pace, I know I’m making embarrassing sounds, but I can’t stop. He’s too much.
When I can’t stand his beauty any longer, I look at the ceiling. It swims and sways. I give up and close my eyes. Lift my hips to meet him. Grip his lower back and urge him on.
In the end, I just submit to panting. Adrenaline courses through me as I walk a tightrope of sensation, and when he reaches between us and presses his fingers in tight circles, I’m gone. Falling and flying at the same time, and giving plaintive voice to the long, heavy pulses that overtake me.
I’m still spinning when he lets out a long moan. He bucks and presses in as far as he can, then he slows, and eventually stops. By then, we’re not even two people anymore; just one orgasmic, panting mass, clinging to each other with trembling limbs.
Incredible.
What more could two people want from each other?
I let out a deep sigh.
Ethan’s body is heavy against me, his face pressed into my neck. I run my fingers through his hair and try to get enough oxygen.
“I love you, Ethan Holt,” I say, soft and breathy. “No matter how tough things get, just remember that, okay?”
He tenses for a second, and just when I think my heart is going to bottom out from him not saying it back, he exhales. “I … I love you, too.”
For the rest of the night, we don’t talk. We make love, time and again. In the shower, in the kitchen, on the sofa, and, finally, in my bed.
When exhaustion finally takes us, I curl into his side and rest my head over his heart.
Whatever internal dilemma he’s going through, we’ll find a way to make it right, because that’s what couples who love each other do.
I go to sleep with Ethan’s heartbeat in my ear and his arm around me.
The next morning, light bleeds through my eyelids, and I’m dimly aware of birds singing in the trees outside. I smile as I register the warm body beside me.
The first time we slept together, he left before I woke. This time, he stayed.
I breathe in his scent and run my hand over his chest and stomach. He’s warm, and it seems so decadent to feel the length of his naked body pressed against mine. This amount of Ethan should be illegal. He feels too good.
Just being beside him arouses me, and I contemplate which sexual positions we could try this morning. There are so many new things I want him to teach me.
As I snuggle into his chest and sigh in contentment, I realize his heartbeat is fast. Too fast.
I open my eyes to find he’s awake. Staring, stony-faced at the ceiling.
A rush of heat crawls across my skin. “Hey.”
He blinks and turns to me. “Hey.”
His posture is stiff. Alarmingly so. The arm that held me close last night now lies straight out from his body, barely touching me at all.
I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
He blinks a few times, jaw tense. “I have to go.”
Before I can protest, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, grabs his underwear, and pulls it on.
“What? Ethan…?”
“I need to go home and pack before heading back to New York for the holidays,” he says, not looking at me. “Plus, I have to go see Erika about what extra credit I need to do over the Christmas break to make up for flunking this term’s acting class. Merry fucking Christmas to me.”
He pulls on his jeans and buckles his belt before going in search of his shirt.
“Well, I could come with you. Back to your place, I mean. After you pack, we could get breakfast. My flight home isn’t until this afternoon…”