Then he moved. Oh, my God, did he move.
He made me feel good, made me see stars explode before my eyes. He let me grip him as he moved against me like soft waves. He gave me room to move my own hips as I needily searched for pleasure, gasping and clawing. And when I got there, he paused as I savoured the feeling, swallowing my moans with a rough kiss. Then he did what he had done before. He slid off me, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited for me to go.
I caught my breath, hoping he’d say something to me before I left. But he didn’t. I sat up and slid off the bed. I looked at him once over my shoulder, but by then his elbows were on his knees, and that damn hair was covering his face. This was full dismissal. I mean, sure I’d wanted to feel what I did, but I kind of wanted to talk about it afterwards too.
On wobbly Aston-humped-me-to-orgasm legs, I walked past him, and returned quietly to my bedroom. As I lay there, my body cloudy and limp, I turned to the wall and knocked twice on it. I needed reassurance. I needed inside that complex head of his, and I nearly panicked when he didn’t knock back. Nearly felt tears prick my eyes –
Knock. Knock.
I smiled in relief and went to sleep.
*
School finished and the summer wasn’t looking so grim anymore. Not when I was getting my dose of Aston.
We saw each other every night, and he evolved as he touched me, trailing his hand down my body and between my legs. It was a natural evolution. Funny how the body knows what it wants and takes it willingly. No voice murmured inside my head that he was moving too fast. I think it was because of how much I trusted this guy. And anyway, he never removed one article of clothing. It was kind of infuriating. He studied the noises I made, watched me intently as I buckled beneath him and gasped. And always he gave me my own pleasure while reserving his own.
I didn’t understand it, but I saw how tense his body was every time he moved to the edge of that wicked bed. I caught his hands balling into fists, and how rough he raked his hands through his hair. He was suffering. I knew it because I felt how ready he was, and how much it took for him to hold back. The way I felt when I was only halfway to that orgasm, you couldn’t tell me to stop if you put a gun to my head.
“What are we doing?” he whispered once, his voice almost sad.
It was the first time he’d spoken after our…session (God, only I could make it sound so seedy). I was in bed, twirling my hair around my finger when he’d said it. I looked at him in the dark, this large solid being, coiled and tense and filled with frustration.
“Do you want to stop?” I asked him quietly. If he said yes, I’d suffer. But I knew at that point he wouldn’t. He was lost in me. I felt it in the way he kissed me, the way his hands gripped my body with desperate need. I asked mostly because I just needed to hear it. Tickle my ear and squeeze my heart, Aston.
He turned his head to me. “I couldn’t be without you before, and now it’ll kill me. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted to break me.”
He made it sound like an accusation. I should have been insulted, but I was still depleted after my pleasure. I was mellow and completely okay with criticism. It was a rare moment for me; like watching an animal outside of its habitat. No anger or defensiveness surfaced. I was totally chill. Were koalas like this? I compared myself to a koala anyway.
Delighted in my newfound serenity, I looked at him calmly and replied, “I didn’t know there was anything to break, Aston. You’ve always been so reserved until now. And even now you won’t speak to me about it.”
“Let’s talk about it then,” he said, turning his body to me. “What happens next? I’m moving to the city when summer is over. What happens when I’m there and you’re here? How does it work?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “You’re part of the family, Aston, it’s not like I won’t see you again. You promised you’d visit.”
“And between visits, what do we do?”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
He leaned forward, staring at me solemnly as he gritted out, “How the fuck do I get you out of my head, Elise?”
I froze. His eyes were glassy and wide. He looked wretched. It was the first time I’d seen him hurt so much for me, and I didn’t feel any pleasure in it like I thought I would.
“You don’t,” I whispered slowly. “You don’t get me out of your head. That’s the point. We…stick together and we find a way to work it out.”
He searched my eyes. “So, we’re together now.”
“If that’s what you want.” When he didn’t respond, I shifted closer to him and touched his hand. “Is that what you want?”