He walked over to his wineglass, picking it up, and drinking the entire contents, placing it back down, and moving to the cushion next to mine. He sat, slightly turned toward me, his feet next to mine, his hips pivoted away.
“Nervous?” he asked, putting his arms across the back of the couch, but not touching me.
“Yes,” I admitted because, well, if I wasn't honest, this process wasn't going to work.
He nodded, then the hand that wasn't behind me, reached out and landed on top of my knee. “What, exactly, are you nervous about? Me touching you?” he asked, and I felt myself nodding tightly, watching the fake fire. “I'm touching you right now.” He didn't need to tell me that. I felt like the contact was shooting right up my leg into my core. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his hand squeezing slightly.
Did I? I was so caught up in the what might happens that I wasn't even actually sure how I felt about the contact. In the end, I decided, “No.”
“Good,” he said and I sucked in a deep breath, “because I don't want to stop.”
The air hissed out of my mouth, my head turning quickly to find his on my face, “Wh... okay,” I finished, not sure what I was about to ask him.
His hand moved downward, stroking across the front of my leg, then back up to my knee, casual, lazy, but fuck if it wasn't sending off sparks. My hand gripped hard at my empty wineglass and his hand reached up, “Why don't we get rid of that?” he suggested, taking it, his fingers brushing against mine as he did. He turned, placing my glass next to his, then faced me again. This time, when his arm reached out, it went to the further knee, his arm like a barrier across my body, blocking me in.
And the heart palpitations started.
That's always how the anxiety worked. First the pounding heart, the sweaty palms, the hot and cold at the same time sensation, the trouble catching my breath, then the dizziness, the nausea, the absolute certainty that if I didn't get away, I was going to be sick all over myself and then pass out.
“Ava,” Chase said, making my head snap toward him. “Breathe,” he told me and I realized he was right, I was holding my breath. I sucked in a shaky breath and he nodded. “Good. Now, tell me why you're anxious.”
I swallowed hard. If there was one thing that people didn't get about anxiety and panic attacks, it was how much the sufferers didn't want to talk about it. How they didn't want to be perceived as weak or crazy or dramatic.
“I feel trapped,” I admitted.
“Okay,” he said, his hand squeezing my knee. “Are you really trapped?”
“No.” Of course not, but that didn't matter. Anxiety wasn't rational.
“Can you leave at any time?”
I bit into my lower lip for a second. “Yes.”
“Do you think I would be mad or disappointed if you needed to get up and walk away?”
My eyes went to his, surprised. Because, well, yes. That was exactly what made the sensation so bad, knowing that the guys I was with wouldn't understand, that they'd be offended or upset. But he wasn't them. He understood. He wasn't judging me. “No,” I said finally.
“Okay, so why don't we stop thinking about that?” he suggested, his hand dipping low, stroking down the front of my leg, then snaking around to my calf, before moving back up to my knee. “Do you like this?” he asked, his fingers sliding toward the outside of my thigh, snaking upward.
I looked down from his eyes, staring at his throat instead. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good, I like that,” he said, and it sounded like praise... something a man had never offered me before. “I like touching you,” he said, making my belly do a strange little flip flop. His other arm, the one behind me, slid downward, settling behind my shoulders, just pressure, not wrapping around me. “And I'm not just saying that because it's my job,” he said, sounding closer, and I glanced lower to see he had scooted closer, his hips just an inch or so from mine. I hadn't even felt him move.
“Really?” I asked, a blush creeping up my cheeks, hot and furious.
His hand suddenly stopped toying with my leg, moving upward, stroking across my jaw, then grabbing my chin lightly, forcing my face up to look at him. “Babe,” he said, sounding serious, “if I saw you in a bar, I'd have taken you home in a heartbeat.”
Oh, my.
My eyes dropped self-consciously, but his hand stayed there, patient, waiting. For me to look at him again. When I finally did, “Do you believe me?”
Did I? He had no reason to lie. He didn't need to admit that in the first place. “Yes.”
He nodded slightly, just the barest of movements, still not dropping his hand from my chin. “I would have walked over to you, gotten close, whispered in your ear, told you how fucking gorgeous you are...”
Oh, my god.
Was he really saying that?
Seriously?
“And then, I would bring you back to my apartment and as soon as you stepped inside, I would push you up hard against the door, and crush my lips to yours,” he said, his thumb moving upward and stroking across my lips. The words settled, like a fluid sensation in my belly, sending a jolt of desire so strong I felt my panties start to get wet, and pressed my thighs tightly together to stem the chaos brewing between them. “Does that sound good?” He asked, his thumb stroking again, my lips parting slightly and his finger pressed between the crease.
“Y... yes,” I admitted.
“Are you turned on, Ava?” he asked, his eyes dropping to look at my lips.
Was I turned on? Only more than ever fucking before. “Yes,” I admitted.
He made a short, low, almost growling sound. “I like that,” he said, his hand moving back across my jaw, pausing, then slipping down the side of my neck. And I swear the contact felt like fireworks. I felt a small involuntary shiver shake my body. Chase chuckled slightly, leaning closer. “You're so sensitive, baby.”'
Was I? I was usually so busy freaking the fuck out by this point that I was just... almost numb to the sensations. “Not usually,” I said, wanting to be forthcoming.
His head dipped toward me, his nose grazing across my jaw, his warm breath on my neck. “Just for me then?” he asked and I felt my head float backward, begging for things I knew I never wanted before. Lips on skin. Hands in hair. Fingers in... places.
“I guess,” I mumbled, eyes closing.
“Do you want me to kiss you here?” he asked, his nose brushing across the sensitive skin underneath my ear.
Did I? I think I did. “Yes.”
“Tell me,” he said, his breath causing another shiver.
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me you want me to kiss your neck,” he instructed.
Fuck. If the process was going to be 'I'll do things to you, but only after you ask for them', then we weren't going to get anywhere. Because I couldn't. Literally couldn't. It didn't make sense. I knew that rationally. There was no good reason I couldn't open my mouth and force the words out. But I just couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to. The words would get caught on my tongue and some sort of crippling anxiety kept me mute.
And it wasn't just sex. It was anything that I really wanted. Or things that I wanted to stop. The words just... wouldn't come.
“Ava,” Chase said, tilting his head up to look at me. I swallowed, looking down at him, and shook my head. “No, you don't want me to? Or no you can't ask.”
I brought a hand up to my face, wanting to hide. The rolling in my belly was back and I knew what was next. The need to flee. I was hoping we could get further before I needed to take steps back. “I can't ask,” I admitted, my voice like a strange croak.
“Okay,” he said, sounding unconcerned. “We can work on the verbal stuff,” he said, looking away. “But first, this,” he said.
And then his lips touched the space his nose had traced, sending a shock through my body, making me jump and my hand slam down on the top of my thigh, balling into a fist.
So, this was what it was supposed to feel like. The sweet, intoxicating sensation that had me wanting to sink back into the couch as my body came alive.
His lips pressed into the skin and I felt the hint of teeth a second before his tongue moved outward and traced a slow line down the side of my neck. I swear I felt like I was going to explode. Just. Bam. Shatter into a million little flecks of desire. Because that was all that I could feel. The heat. His breath on my skin. His lips planting lazy kisses. His hand on the other side of my neck, digging slightly in.
My head turned, giving him complete access as his lips landed down by the collar of the cardigan.
And then he moved away, leaving my skin feeling cold.
He sat back slightly, fingers stroking down the other side of my neck before catching in my hair. “Open your eyes,” he said, his voice soft but there was an undercurrent of heat there too. I took a breath, opening slowly to land on his bright blue. “Good girl,” he said, quietly. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want now?” he asked.
I felt my eyes go wide. Because, honestly, I didn't know. I wanted whatever he wanted to give me. I couldn't just name any particular...
“Let's try this again,” he said and I heard a humor in his voice. “Do you want me to keep kissing your neck?” he asked, leaning down and planting a whisper-light kiss. “Or do you want to try something else for a while?”