“You look at a lot of naked women?” I don’t want the answer to that question after it’s out of my mouth.
“Not anymore,” he breathes against my lips. His lips touch mine, tentatively, and then he retreats. He’s making me crazy. His hips press insistently, pushing him closer and closer to my heat. “I haven’t seen a single naked woman since the day I met you.”
“Do you want to see any naked women?” I ask. My voice is still doing that quavery thing. His hand lies on my throat, almost like he’s listening with his fingertips for the sound of my voice.
He shakes his head, looking directly into my eyes. “Just one.”
I reach down to tug his shirt over my head, but he stops me with a grunt.
“What?” I ask.
He looks into my eyes. “What’s your name?” he asks.
This time, it’s me who throws her arm over her eyes. I want to scream. I can’t tell him anything. “I can’t tell you,” I say.
He tugs the shirt back down around my hips. “Then your clothes stay on.” He kisses me, his lips nibbling at mine until I’m breathless. “And so do mine.”
“Your brother said you should fuck me and get it over with.”
He heaves a sigh. “That’s because he thinks I’ll fuck you and not want to see you anymore. But I can assure you, that’s not the case.” He presses against me again, rocking against my cleft, the ridge of his manhood pressing against my clit. “Once I get to be inside you, I’ll never want to give you up.” He kisses the side of my neck, suckling gently as he moves across the front of my throat. His five o’clock shadow abrades my tender skin. But I don’t want him to stop.
I reach down to cup him through his jeans, and he stills.
“Don’t play with me,” he warns. His voice is strong but quiet. “If you want to be my friend, you can be my friend. We can sleep in the same bed, we can have meals together, and we can spend time doing things we both like.”
I lift his head so that he’s looking at me. “I want to be your friend,” I say.
“I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“What does that mean?” I cry, slapping the bed with my open palms in frustration.
He looks confused. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the same as being my friend, but I get to make you come.” He rocks against me once again. Then he lifts away. I want to scream.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the blanket off the couch. Unless you want me to sleep out there?” He looks unsure.
I want him inside me. But that’s not going to happen. “Go get the blanket,” I grumble. He chuckles and leaves the room.
My panties are wet. Soaked. I reach into my bag and put on a fresh pair. I’m adjusting them over my hips when he walks back in the room.
“Fresh panties,” I explain. “All your fault,” I taunt.
He groans, and flops back on the bed. “Why did you have to tell me that?” he asks. He lays there for a minute with his hands clenched. Then he motions me forward and pulls my head down to lie on his chest. He takes a deep breath and hugs me to him tightly, then releases me and relaxes. He picks up a book from beside his night stand and holds it in one hand. He reads quietly to himself.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
He looks down at it and tells me the title. “Will you read it to me?” I ask.
He lifts his head long enough to look at my face and finds that I’m serious. I can learn. And I love books. I just can’t read them. I have an amazing memory.
“Start at the beginning?” I ask.
He turns to page one and begins to read. I settle against him, wrapping my arms around his chest, snuggling as tightly against him as I can. And he reads. His voice is strong and sure, and he reads long into the night, long after he’s yawning, because I don’t want him to stop. When he finally lays the book to the side, I roll toward him and he turns to face me. He tucks me beneath his chin and I can hear his heart beating in his chest. “When you’re ready for what I want,” he says, “let me know.”
I’m ready. I’m ready now. But I’m not ready for the same thing he is. I nod against his chest, and he heaves a sigh. His lips touch the top of my head, soft as a whisper.
***
I wake up the next day and lift my head. Sunlight pours into the room, and I know I’ve slept much later than I normally would. But then again, we were up really late last night reading. My heart clenches inside my chest when I realize that he hasn’t used his voice in eight years, but he spent hours last night reading to me. It makes me feel warm all over, and I look around, wondering where he is. The bed is empty, and there’s not even an impression of his head on the pillow. That’s probably because we shared the same space last night. I draped myself across his chest, and then we adjusted, and I had my head on his belly. All the time he read, his fingers had trailed across one body part of mine or the other. It was a tiny tickle, but it touched the center of me.