Armand hummed some vague acknowledgment, his hands having found my arms and holding on to me like it was for dear life. “’S not perfect, and I know you’re probably ... ugh, worried about the deposit, but—”
“That was extremely hot of you,” I interrupted, my heart flipping over at how easily Armand allowed me to sit him on the edge of the mattress. At how he almost instantly lay backward, pulling me closer until I was nearly straddling him. At how he waited, holding me gently, for me to decide what to do next.
“Is this—” I swallowed, the butterflies in my stomach mingling with a sudden burst of nerves. “Is this okay?”
God, the way he was staring up at me with parted lips, his hair curtained on the pillow, eyes dark and wide and fixed on my face as if—
As if I was something to be admired.
“This is bloody perfect,” he murmured, stroking my arms. “We can do whatever you want. If anything.”
“It’s just—” I wet my lips. “Darren always wanted to be in charge, to decide what we did and when, and I ... I’ve never ...” Damn it, I was trembling. I didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
But Armand was sitting up, strong arms curling around me and easing me onto his lap. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “Tell me what you’d like,” he said softly. His fingers hovered against my jaw.
What I’d like?
I inclined my head, slow enough that Armand could shove me away if he wanted, and lowered my lips to his neck.
His breath caught, warm against my cheek. He arched against me, baring more of his skin for me to access. As my lips inched downward, his hands traveled under my shirt, short fingernails pressing lightly into the skin of my back.
We were barely touching, and I at least was still fully clothed, but every inch of my body had sparked alive under his attention.
Emboldened by the thrill of his smell, his touch, the way he murmured semi-distinguishable words against the exposed lines of my skin, I nudged Armand down onto the mattress. I curled my fingers around his and urged them to the hem of my shirt, nodding to Armand as he silently asked permission before pulling it up and over my head.
It was more exposed than I’d ever allowed myself to be with anyone other than Darren, and for a strangled heartbeat of a moment, I froze.
“Lucas?” Armand’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, his whole face open and genuine and attentive. There wasn’t even a hint of expectation or pressure in the way his hands paused on my hips, his palms burning hot. “We ... we could stop—”
The top of my head had been floating away, but I became instantly grounded, present in the moment. My chest clenched with a wave of such overwhelming affection I struggled to breathe. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want to waste any more of my life trying to please someone who’d never really wanted me.
And I wanted Armand. So badly it hurt.
I kissed him again, deeper this time, my self-control fracturing as he moaned. I rolled my hands down the unfairly defined muscles of his chest, the lined abs, the dusting of hair at the waistband of his briefs.
“I know we agreed not to do this,” I said, startled at how low and rough my voice was already, “but you should know I don’t think of you as a one-night stand.” I paused only to take in his ragged breaths, hips trembling with the effort to not rock against my hands. “This means something to me.” I pressed my lips to his, and he met me eagerly, our bare chests flush together.
“Me too,” he whined into my mouth, as I freed him of his underwear and he did the same to me.
I took a breathless moment to admire the length of Armand’s body, now entirely bare. My mouth went dry at the firmness of his muscles, the veins in his elegant hands, the all-encompassing heat of him. He grew hotter under my gaze, his skin like a live wire at every point we were touching.
“Do—” His voice was ragged, and he cleared his throat. “Do you want to—”
“Yes,” I breathed. My fingers kneaded into the chiseled lines that cut down his hip, biting my lip at the whine he gave even as he reached for the bedside table.
When at last we both went boneless, sweaty and spent and utterly lightheaded, he fell sideways onto the mattress, pulling my back against his chest, cradling me like a weighted blanket. His lips lazily found the crest of my ear as we breathed each other in, my entire being relaxing into something safe and warm.
Through the blissful exhaustion, I shivered with pride. Armand had come completely undone because of me. I’d taken control rather than lying back and letting him call the shots. I hadn’t had to struggle to find release past the constant reminder that I was just a means to an end, a dirty little secret.
I didn’t have to worry that I wasn’t good enough.
My eyes fluttered closed and I cozied back against Armand.
Mom was right. It was time I let myself trust again.
August 16th- Time has lost all meaning
Consciousness arrived gradually, warmly, with the golden, soupy sunshine of late morning dripping past the blinds and onto the ceiling in lazy streaks and splashes. California sunshine. Still intimidatingly vibrant, butgenuine. At some point during this past month, I’d stopped thinking of it as an enemy and had begun accepting the comfort and vitamins it offered.
