He knelt up, dragging his hand down over my jaw, my throat, my breast. My nipple raised under the tip of his thumb, my back arching into an involuntary play of anticipation. Ecstatic, I chanted his name.Kai, Kai.To be touched like this, but more than that: to be touched like this byhim.
“Does it feel good?” he asked.
“Yes,” promised.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay?”
“Okay.”
He lowered himself to me, his mouth landing on my shoulder while his fingers moved between my thighs, feeling me, opening me. Deep sensation, deeper than before. He pressed up with the rest of his palm, and I heard myself moan with pleasure and faith and surrender. For all my unrecognizable personhood, in his hands, I knew and trusted myself completely.
“I love touching you like that,” he breathed against my neck, kissing, licking, sucking the delicate skin between his teeth.
“I… yes,” was all I hummed, oversensitive now, almost hurting, knowing that if he didn’t stop soon I’d be done. And I didn’t want to be done. I wanted to stretch this moment as thin as it could get. I wanted to fit my whole life, my whole existence, in it.
“Would you like…” I panted, delirious, feeling the tip of his erection pressing under the hollow of my navel. Wet already. “Can I touch you too?”
He gave a little tremulous laugh. “Yes. Please. If you want to.”
Slipping my hand between our bodies, I touched him with my fingers, closing them tight around him before stroking him with swift upward motions. He shut his eyes, lips parting as though he really liked what I was doing to him. Still, I wanted to be sure, to hear him say it. “Is it okay like this?” I asked.
It did something to me, the sound of his voice, very low and rough, saying, “Fuck, Anya. Yes. Like this.”
I wanted him so badly then that I physically ached, and even the possibility of having him inside me within seconds, of letting him take me however he wanted, didn’t seem enough to soothe this desire. Even before having him, I knew I would want him again.
“Anya,” he sighed, incoherent now, his stomach tightening against mine. “Can I… Can we…”
Heart pounding, I answered rapidly, “Yes, please. I really need it.”
A wildness braced his face at these words. He captured my jaw in his hand, roughly squeezing my cheeks as he lowered his mouth to mine. “Yeah?” he asked between fast, hungry kisses. “You need it?”
“So much, Kai,” I cried. “I need you so much it hurts.”
Again, he knelt between my thighs, his hands on my knees, wielding them open and down. His forehead was a little damp, his lips parted, his eyes onyx-black and depthless. Depth of his desire.
“Tell me how you want it,” he asked, and I nearly came just at the idea of him asking, him thinking of the things that would please me, him imagining having me in so many different ways that he didn’t know what to do first.
“Anything,” I heard myself mumble in a high, breathless voice. “You can do anything to me.”
With his hands on the backs of my thighs, he aligned our bodies, and I felt him pressing down, opening me, sinking in a little. “Like this?”
I said nothing, just rolled up my hips and took more of him in, gasping, my body giving to his and to this feeling of parting inwardly.
He cursed between his teeth, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, brushing a hand up my shaking thigh, he gazed down at me once more. “You alright?”
“Mm.”
Breathing hard, doing his best not to move just yet, he reached for the side of my throat and traced with his thumb soothing circles over my erratic pulse. “Are you sure? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” I croaked, sniffling. “I’m just very full.”
Stricken, he leaned over me and took my face between his hands. “Anya, you’re crying.”
“I know,” I whispered, touching my fingertips to the wet corners of my eyes. “I just… I feel so safe right now. Is that weird?”
“Youaresafe,” was his simple, wholehearted reply. “You are completely safe with me. I promise.”
Soothed, I gave another faint nod, and he moved inside me, slow at first, then deep, deeper. Within seconds I began to tremble—tremble from the tight, raveling sensation in my stomach, from the brute strength of his body collapsing into mine, from the mere idea of what we were doing. Of me lying there, writhing, and him giving it to me like that, fast and hard, wanting, needing, thinking of nothing. What else could matter? To try to connect this moment, the wild and tender abandon of it, with any other ordinary part of my life seemed impossible. And yes, the act itself, ancient and natural as breathing, was perhaps in its core ordinary, but the feeling he gave me wasn’t. Because he was right. Because sometimes you did get a feeling with people that they are meant for you and you are meant for them. The daunting and all-enveloping mystery of life clarified under the microscope of human connection.
