The Pact(59)

It looks new.

This is all so new.

We stop right outside his door and as he sticks the key in the slot, I blurt out, “What if this is a mistake?”

He pauses and slowly looks over his shoulder at me. “Do you think it’s a mistake?”

I chew on my lip for a moment and try and listen to my heart. Do I think this is a mistake?

“No,” I slowly say, my heart starting to race in response. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

He unlocks the door, pushing it open an inch and then turns around to face me. His brow is furrowed, his eyes soft and searching. “Baby blue…it’s me.”

“I know,” I tell him. “But what if…what if it doesn’t work out?”

“It will work out,” he says but I don’t know if I share his confidence.

“I just don’t want it to blow up in our face, to ruin what we had. I don’t want to lose you.”

He reaches for my hand and pulls me to him. “You are not going to lose me,” he says, peering down at me. “I promise.”

I want to believe him so badly. I need to believe him. “What if you lose me?”

He smiles at me, his grip hard. “Then I’ll just hold on tighter.”

I’m pulled closer to him and he opens the door, ushering me inside.

All the lights are off save for one in his kitchen to the left. The apartment gleams in the low light, the floors dark, walnut brown wood, and the walls painted a dark grey. Everything seems more mysterious, more dangerous now. This is no longer the apartment of my friend, this is the apartment of a man I don’t fully know yet.

He shuts the door behind me and then takes a step toward me until I’m up against the back of the door. He places his hands on either side of my head, braced against the door, and stares down at me, his lips just inches from mine, our noses almost touching.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I just stare at his full lips, at his searing eyes as they want, want, want. I am aware of what a large man he is, suddenly, like it had never occurred to me before. His hands, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his height. He’s just so big and I feel so small, so easily ravaged.

I want to be ravaged.

He leans in a millimeter until the side of his nose gently brushes against the side of mine. “This moment,” he says, his voice hoarse, and closes his eyes. “This moment.”

It is a moment. And before I can ponder just what kind of moment it is to him, he leans in and kisses me. It’s very soft, light, like feathers. It’s a tease of a kiss, an aperitif before the meal. And yet for all its warmth and gentleness, the way his lips linger luxuriously on mine, it undoes me. As if I were held together with string, this kiss is the knife that slowly cuts me loose.

I’m just about to open mouth, to take in more of him, when he pulls back an inch. He whispers against my mouth, “I’m taking this slow. I’ve waited far too long for this to be over in a minute.” He slips his hand behind my neck and grips me there. “I’m going to relish every inch of your body until you’re begging for release. Then, I’m going to fuck you so hard, so good, that you’ll still feel me inside you days later.”

I am weak, pliable putty. I lack thought and control. I am just body and blood and need. He bends down and scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the hall like I weigh nothing at all. I am just a girl in his strong arms.

In his bedroom, light from streetlamps floats in through the gauzy curtains and illuminates his bed. It looks like a landing pad.

He gently lays me down on the white duvet, black sheets underneath, and stands at the foot of bed. He pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it on the floor beside him.

I’ve seen Linden with his shirt off before but this is the first time I’ve been freely allowed to ogle him. I mean, how can you not? It’s a wonder I didn’t run my hands all over him before, lick him from head to toe.

Though the light is dim, his chest is wide and firm with a smattering of well-groomed, Hugh Jackman-ish chest hairs, his shoulders are round and sculpted and his arms are like tree trunks, laced with ropey muscles. His abs are defined and shadowed – a definite six-pack – leading to those sexy, deep hip bones that angle in toward his pelvis. I can’t keep my eyes off of him, off of each hardened, masculine part that makes up this beast of a man.

I want the weight of him on my body, I want to feel every part of him with my fingers, my tongue, my lips. I want him so fucking much that I’m almost shaking from the need of it all.

He watches me watching him, a faint smirk on his lips, and he slowly unzips his jeans. They fall to the floor, showing off his muscular thighs. He is wearing dark boxer briefs that hug his body and I can see every rigid line of his erection as it strains against the fabric.